


You are safe here

by Gayboy99



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Child Abuse, Cyber Bullying, FTM Original Character, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Milan finds a cute boy, Robander, Sander has an older sibling, Smut, Sobbe - Freeform, Sobbe Fluff, SobbeSmut, Two men in love, chosen family, supportive boyfriends, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayboy99/pseuds/Gayboy99
Summary: Sander’s dad is a cop explanation. Picks up after Vrijdag 21:21 and Zaterdag 09:41. The drama happens around Robbe and Sander, but they are always there for each other, as best they can.
Relationships: Robbe/Sander, Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans, Zoe/Senne
Comments: 32
Kudos: 362
Collections: Skam Belgium (Wtfock) ▶ Sander Driesen / Robbe Ijzermans





	1. Monday 23:57 (Robbe's POV)

It was a difficult task, falling asleep when I hadn’t heard anything from Sander all day, but somehow I managed. At least for a little bit anyway. The pressure of someone on the bed next to me woke me up. From the sigh he let out I knew it was Sander. He may not always answer my messages but he always comes to me when I need him the most.

I reach out for him. Placing my hand on his cheek, it feels cold from being outside. “How’d you get in?” I ask still half asleep, kissing his chin. 

“The door was open,” Sander whispers. 

My lips move to his, my thumbs running along his cheekbones. Sander winces in pain, “Ouch! Sorry babe, stop.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask confused. I can only see the outline of his face in the dark. His eyes are closed tight in what I assume is pain. I roll over to turn on the lamp on the side table. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next. 

Here he was, the man that I love with his face black and blue and his lower lip swollen beyond recognition. 

“Sander...what the fuck? What happened? Who did this to you?” I ask stumbling through the thoughts running through my head. It is killing me to see him this hurt, this is so much worse than when the assholes beat us up. 

I can tell that he is trying to answer my questions, but tears are forming in his eyes and he is starting to hyperventilate. I try to console him, but his breathing won't calm down. I pull him into my chest and soon my shirt becomes wet from his tears. 

“Shh Sander, you are safe now. I’m here, I love you honey. Tell me what happened,” I panic speak trying to fight back my own tears. 

“It. Was. My. Dad,” Sander manages to say through shaky breaths. 

“What? No? Why?” I ask, shifting so I can see his face again. He is trying to cover his eyes with both hands. I put my hands on his as gently as I can, eventually I move them away from his face. 

“He found my sketchbook, we fought, and he kicked me out of the house,” Sander confesses, unable to look me in the eye. At first I don’t understand why finding a sketchbook would lead to this. Was it because his dad found out that he is seeing me? Is his dad homophobic? 

“Please, Sander. This wasn’t a fight, he hurt you. We need to go to the cops,” I plead, not knowing what else would make this better, what else could make Sander safe again. 

“No. No. No. Don’t you get it? He’s a cop too!” Sander says in a voice full of so much pain and fear it stuns me into silence. 

Sander retretes back into my arms and the tears never seem to end. All I can do is hold him repeating over and over, “I love you. You never need to go back there. We will keep you safe here. I love you.” I repeat this mantra until he falls asleep. I lay awake unmoving. Afraid any movement might cause him more pain, thinking about what the hell we are going to do about all this shit in the morning.


	2. Tuesday 7:10 (Robbe's POV)

After dozing off for about two hours I wake up stiff, because I haven’t moved at all since before Sander fell asleep. From the dim light peeking through my curtains I can see more of Sander’s injuries. His face is swollen and misshapen in areas, but what is most concerning is his wrist. It is resting on my chest and looks about twice the size it usually is. 

“Sander, baby wake up,” I whisper into his ear. “We need to take you to the hospital.”

Sander slowly begins to stir, letting out choked cries as he awakens to the pain he is undoubtedly feeling right now. “No hospital, I don’t want to,” he groans petulantly.

“That wasn’t a suggestion. Your wrist is so swollen, I think it is broken,” I reason, moving his hair out of his eyes. Pieces of it have been stained red with blood. “We don’t need to tell them anything you don’t want to, we just need to get you some help.” 

“Its fine,” he argues still half asleep, moving his wrist as if to show me that it is perfectly normal. He lets out a muffled scream in pain, unable to move his wrist more than an inch off of my chest. “Maybe it’s not okay,” he resigns. 

“Okay, you stay here. I’m going to get our shoes,” I say freeing myself from under him as gently as I can. Sander lets out a couple groans of pain as I do this. I shuffle run to the front door and gather up our shoes. As I make my way back down the hall I realize we have no way to get to the hospital besides riding our bikes. Even if I could get Sander out of bed by myself I am going to need help. 

I wander to Milan’s door without fully deciding to do so. I knock twice and come in. He is still fast asleep taking up the entire bed. I shake his shoulder, gently at first, but harder as I realize how deep of a sleeper he is. 

“Milan, please. Wake up, I need your help,” I plead. His eyes start to open and at first he seems annoyed at me. “Milan, I need you to drive us to the hospital.” 

“What, what happened?” Milan asks. Shooting out of bed. 

“It’s Sander. His dad beat the shit out of him,” I blurt out, forgetting every filter I have. “He came over last night. And I didn't realize how bad it was until now. Milan its really really bad.”

Milan takes my face in both of his hands. I didn't realize I was crying until he wipes away my tears. “Robbe, we will get him to the hospital. Everything will be okay, but right now I need you to pull yourself together so we can help him. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I can,” I say. We walk down the hallway together, the shoes still in my hands. 

“Sander, buddy how are you doing?” Milan asks in a soothing voice that even makes me feel better. 

Sander had half fallen back to sleep since I had left. “Pretty shit,” Sander says, almost managing a smile. God I love him. 

“Can you sit up?” Milan asks. 

“I don’t want to,” Sander responds, deliriously. 

“Okay, okay that’s fine for now. Robbe hand me his shoes,” Milan commands, how is he so calm? I hand them over to him and he starts to put them on Sander’s feet while he is still laying down. “Put yours on too Robbe.”

“Right,” I mutter. “What about his jacket?”

“I think it will hurt him too much to put it on. I’ll bring him a blanket,” Milan declares. “Okay, I’ll get the car started and bring it around front. I’m going to send Senne in here to help you get him downstairs okay?” 

Milan walks out without another word. I talk to myself in my head, telling myself what to do next, telling myself to stay calm. Okay, lets get him sitting, I can do that. 

“Okay, baby. I’m going to roll you onto your back,” I say more to myself than to him, but he murmurs in agreement. “Okay, one, two, three.” I roll him as gently as I can, trying my best to keep his arm resting against his chest. I can tell it still hurt. 

“That wasn’t fun,” Sander says, sucking air into his lungs and letting it out shakily. 

After a couple of seconds I decide it's now or never to get him seated. His legs are already dangling off the end of the bed, all I need to do is raise his torso. His shoulders seam to be relatively unharmed so I decide to pull from there. “Okay here we go, one, two, three.” He isn’t as heavy as I thought he would be, soon he is sitting up with his hair messed up from the pillows. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I feel dizzy,” Sander says panicked. 

“Its, okay. Here,” I say climbing behind him so he can rest his back against my chest. “Here, lean against me.” As soon as I say this his head slumps back onto my shoulder. I don’t think he will be able to walk. 

I hear the door creak open, Senne is standing in the doorway fully dressed, looking like he needs a coffee. I have never been more happy to see anyone as I am to see him and Zoe standing behind him. “Wow, Sander. Is he okay?” Senne asks, consern rushing across his face. 

“Not really,” I answer for him. I can’t tell if Sander passed out or not. “He said that he felt dizzy when I sat him up. Milan is getting the car.”

“Okay, Sander, can you hear me?” Senne asks coming over to get a better look at Sander. I see Zoe out of the corner of my eye. She has her hands cupped over her mouth, looking like she is about to start crying. 

All Sander can manage is a groan of pain in response. “Okay, Zoe can you grab their phones and wallets?” Senne directs. “I can carry him to the elevator.”

“Are you sure, he’s kind of heavy?” I ask.

“Do you see these guns?” Senne asks with a forced grin. 

“Are you calling me fat?” Sander asks quietly. He gets a couple of nervous laughs out of us, enough to bring me back into reality. 

“Sander can you put your good arm around my neck. There you go, good job. Now, lean forward a bit,” Senne directs, positioning himself so he can carry Sander’s limp body. “Here we go.”

Senne is able to lift Sander without much trouble. I jump up off of the bed, grabbing one of the blankets as I go. Zoe holds the bedroom door open for us and I run ahead to get the front door. Senne walks carefully but steady through the hallway, taking extra care to not bump any part of Sander’s body on the walls. Zoe goes through the door first and hits the button on the elevator, this is probably the most depressing relay race anyone could ever do. After we all pile into the elevator I try to take some of Sander’s weight off of Senne. Maybe it's adrenalin, but Senne doesn't seem fazed at all by Sander’s weight. The door relay continues after we exit the elevator until we make it onto the street. Milan pulls up just in time. Senne places Sander down in the back seat and I follow in behind him. As soon as I sit down Sander crumples onto my lap. I lay the blanket over his trembling body. 

Milan starts to drive away. I mouth ‘thank you’ to Senne through the window. Zoe and Senne stand on the curb, holding each other and watching us disappear down the street. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What are you doing?” I ask Milan. He is standing over Sander taking pictures of his face and all visible injuries. Sander is asleep again, this time in the hospital bed while we are waiting for the doctor. 

“He may not want to report this now, but he might one day,” Milan says simply. I let him continue, helping him lift Sander’s shirt slightly to see the bruises on his stomach. 

A soft knock on the door alerts us that the nurse was coming in. “Come in,” we say in unison. 

“Sander, wake up honey. The nurse is here,” I say, gently rubbing his shoulder. His eyes slowly flickered open. 

“Hello boys, my name is Nurse Jacky. How are we this morning?” she asks brightly. 

“Fantastic!” Sander says, his voice cracking because of his dry throat. 

“Sounds like it,” she says sarcastically with a warm smile. “So what brings you in today?”

“My arm and face are fucked up,” Sander declares, the pain is making him delirious. 

“I would agree with that,” she says putting on gloves as she walks over, and begins to inspect his face and wrist more closely. “What’s your name darling?”

“Sander Driessen.”

“Okay, and Sander what happened to you?”

“I got beat up last night.”

“What hurts the most?” 

“My wrist and my head.”

“He was saying that he felt dizzy this morning when I got him to sit up. He couldn’t sit up on his own,” I add. 

“Okay, when was the last time you had anything to eat or drink?”

“I ate last, at uh, Saturday morning? And maybe yesterday morning for water.”

“Okay. That might be what is causing part of the dizziness you are feeling. I am going to ask you not to drink or eat anything just yet, just in case. I will, however, hook you up to an IV to get you hydrated and give you something for the pain. How does that sound?”

“Fanflippingtastic!” I have to roll my eyes at his ability to remain positive at a time like this. 

“Is there anyone else I can call for you. Your family?”

“They are already here,” Sander says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Milan and I smile at each other and I softly squeeze Sander’s shoulder. 

“Excellent. Now Sander, are you comfortable with speaking in front of…” she begins gesturing to Milan and me. 

“Absolutely!”

“Okay, if you would like to report a crime committed against you I need to collect evidence from your body and your clothes before we begin treatment. I have to ask, would you like to report this assault? You wouldn’t need to report it right away, however, the evidence can only be collected now.” 

Sander looks at her silently, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. He turns to look at me. I reach out for his good hand and give him a silent nod of encouragement. 

“Yes, please. Do what you need to do,” he sighs, exhaustion lacing every word. 

The process of collecting evidence was long, I held his hand for all the moments that I could. Nurse Jacky swabbed all of his cuts and took pictures of his whole body. He admitted that the cuts on his head were inflicted by an empty beer bottle. Sander insisted that he wasn’t assaulted sexually, which was a huge relief for all of us. By the end of the examination, all of Sander’s clothes were placed in plastic bags and he was in a hospital gown. There seemed to be more purple and blue to his skin than his normal tanned color. The pain medication appeared to be taking effect and Sander was laying with his eyes closed once again. 

“I’ll be back soon to clean his cuts and take him for imaging,” Nurse Jacky said. 

“Thank you,” said Milan. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, Robbe. Talk to me. You’re spiraling,” Milan soothes me after Sander is taken for his imaging. 

“I should have taken him to the hospital last night,” I say pounding my fists into my temples. “I am such an idiot. I should have…”

“Robbe. Robbe. Stop,” Milan says grabbing my hands. “You did everything right. You kept him safe, you gave him a place to go.”

“But what if he has a concussion, or what if he has internal bleeding, and I should have gotten him here sooner. I really am the world’s biggest moron. I should have turned on all of the lights and looked at everything,” I am speaking at a mile a minute.

“You couldn’t have known Robbe, you aren’t a doctor. And that’s the thing about bruising and swelling, it gets worse with time, so it probably didn’t look as bad last night,” Milan reasons. 

“It still looked horrible though. I am supposed to take care of him and I just got complacent,” I admit. 

“You know what?” Milan sighs. “With a dad like that, a dad that could do that...this probably isn’t the first time he has done shit like this. Sander probably wouldn’t have come at all if it wasn’t for you being here with him every step of the way. He definitely wouldn't have agreed to having evidence collected.”

“You really think so?”

“I’m sure, one hundred percent,” Milan says looking me straight in the eyes. “I mean, did you see the look on his face when she bagged his shoes?”

Milan and I begin cry laughing at the ridiculousness of our present situation. “Milan, thank you,” I say after calming down a bit. “I genuinely don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Stop it, Robbe,” Milan blushes. 

“I’m serious,” I say sternly. “You have been kind to me when you had no reason to be. You have mopped me up off of the floor more times than I can count. You are like the brother I never knew that I needed, I love you.” 

Milan gives me a hug, one that only he can give, I can feel him crying silently. Our phones ding simultaneously. “Oh thank god. Saved by the bell, it was getting far too serious in here,” Milan says wiping his eyes. 

Flat Share Family (Zoe, Milan, Senne, Robbe)  
Senne: Any updates? Have you seen the doctor yet?  
Zoe: I am free for the rest of the day, if you need anything please tell me. I can be there in 5.  
Milan: Thanks mom and dad. Sander is getting images taken now, it’s been a long time, ugh! They say he can’t eat anything until they rule out the need for surgery. He is doing great, keeping his sense of humor.  
Senne: Did he allow them to collect evidence?  
Robbe: Yes. Thank God! He is still unsure about reporting though  
Senne: He has to do that in his own time.  
Zoe: Let me know when I can bring food over. Robbe, do you know what he will want?  
Robbe: Croques! He puts butter on the bread before frying it, so it’s crispy  
Zoe: Specific! I like it!  
Robbe: Can you bring him clothes as well? They had to take his shoes as well  
Milan: He’s back with the doctor gtg xxx

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Knock, knock,” Zoe calls, poking her head through the door. “I come bearing croques!”

“How did you know?!” Sander exclaims enthusiastically. Zoe points at me. “Oh I love you Robbe!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go ahead and eat you dork,” I tease. 

Zoe, holds the bag of sandwiches a little out of reach of Sander, “The doctor said it was okay right?”

“Yeah, she actually ordered me to eat, now hand them over woman,” Sander demands. “And thank you by the way, you are an angel.”

“I try my best,” Zoe says fluffing her hair. 

We eat, happily, especially Sander who eats three sandwiches by himself. Thankfully Zoe accounted for his greater than normal appetite and made six sandwiches for the four of us. “4.7 stars on booking.com,” Sander declares when he finishes. 

“What! Why not 5?” Zoe mocks offense. 

“I’ll have you know, 4.7 is the highest rating I have given thus far. I am saving my perfect 5 for a truly mind-blowing croque.” 

“Fair enough,” Zoe grins. 

Not long after, Dr. Rapfeld and nurse Jacky come in bearing x-ray slides. “Wow this is the party room,” Dr. Rapfeld compliments. 

“I know. I have a fabulous entourage,” Sander smiles. 

“Well, would the crowd like all the good news first or a good news sandwich?” she asks. 

“Good news sandwich?” Milan suggests without objection. 

“Excellent. Well good news number one is that there is nothing in the CT scan that suggests that you have a concussion or any brain injury. Your brain and facial bones are very healthy in fact, most of the diziness you were feeling is likely due to the swelling, dehydration and lack of food. Which it looks like your friend here fixed for us,” she explained. 

“That’s good news huh?” I say just to Sander, earning a small smile from him. Through the humor I can tell he is still nervous. 

“Now, on to the less fun stuff. You do indeed have a spiral fracture on your left ulna. You will need to be in a cast for at least a month, but it doesn’t require surgery. I also found quite a few remodeled fractures in your fingers, your right wrist, left ankle, and evidence of a poorly set shoulder after a dislocation. Your old fractures healed nicely on their own for the most part, your bones are however more likely to refracture at those places. You should meet with a physical therapist to work on your shoulder so we don’t run into any muscular or ligamental issues down the line. Nurse Jacky told me that there is a case file containing evidence collected from this latest incident. I will like to include my findings from the x-rays with your permission.” 

“Okay,” Sander agrees in a small voice. 

“Where is the other side of the good news sandwich?” Milan asks, looking a little shell-shocked.

“Oh yeah! You get to choose what color cast you would like,” Nurse Jacky chimes in. “Any requests?”

“Black,” Sander and I say in unison.


	3. Wednesday 14:00 (Sander's POV)

Walking down the halls before class I feel like everyone is looking at me. I don’t blame them, it looks like I got hit in the face by a truck. I pull out some headphones from my backpack in an attempt to drown everyone out. I realize I took Robbe’s headphones by accident. He will probably be pissed that he can’t find them, but I am so thankful to have a part of him with me today. 

I finally make it to my model studio classroom shuffling silently to my normal seat. My friend Amira is already in her normal seat next to mine. I pull the headphones around my neck, like Robbe always does. “Hey,” I say in a weak greeting. She is distracted digging all of her pencils out of her bag. 

“Hey,” she mutters back, not looking up. “Do you have any charcoals that I can…Sander, what the fuck happened to your face? And your arm? What happened?” 

Her chaotic, blunt energy is usually what I love about her, but right now there is nothing I would like to talk about less. “Oh, I was biking home and a car cut me off,” I manage, surprising myself with the ease at which I am able to lie. “Looks pretty bad ass right?”

“Are you okay? Absolute idiots!” she exclaims. “I bet they were texting, where they texting?”

“Probably,” I shrug. Thankfully Professor Gabris begins talking before Amira can ask me anything else about my fake car accident. 

“Hello class,” he addresses us, his eyes linger a second longer on me. A faint frown flashes across his face, an abnormality within his typically bubly persona. “I regret to inform you that our dear model Yovanna is sick today, a nasty case of the flu I am afraid. But this gives us the perfect opportunity to begin on our self portrait unit.” 

There are actual groans from the class at this news. “You picked a good day to show up looking like a tenderized steak,” Amira whispers. Anyone else might find her insensitive, but being able to laugh about this shit is the only thing keeping me from breaking down. 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Professor Gabris hushes the disgruntled class. “Gabriel and Tara, would you kindly bring out the cart of mirrors that I have in the closet and pass them out, thank you. Now today I would like you to capture yourselves as you are without any masks. Our facial expressions are indeed a mask that we use to express our emotions or even to hide what we are truly feeling. Relax your face completely, and try to capture your own face exactly how it is today, in this moment. Too often we focus solely on perfecting the smiles and the wrinkles and the intricate distortions of a person’s expression. When we strip that all away what is left to express what our subject is experiencing?”

“Their eyes?” Tara suggests timidly. 

“That is exactly right, Tara,” Professor Gabris encourages. “Tell me a story through your own eyes.”  
I set up a mirror, an object I have been making a conscious effort to avoid the past few days. Ever since the first time my father hit me, I always have this thought that if I don’t see myself maybe it didn't really happen? Model studio is usually my favorite class. Learning about how to translate the human body, a magnificent accident, the culmination of millions of years of coincidences into something of my own creation sends me into a zone of hyper focus where its just me and the canvas. I fought with everyone at Robbe’s house this morning to let me go to school, so I could be here, so I can get back to my art and find some calm again. They finally gave in, and now I am wishing I stayed home after all. 

I have created some of the best art of my life in this room, with the guidance of Professor Gabris. From day one I vowed to myself that I would commit fully to everything he assigned. I may not like this assignment, but I need to at least try. 

I take a deep breath, hit play on my favorite Bowie playlist, and look at myself. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After what felt like only a few minutes I feel a tap on my shoulder. It is Professor Gabris. I push the headphones back and look around for the first time since sitting down two and a half hours ago, the room is now empty except for us. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize class had ended,” I apologize, flustered. Trying to pack up my bag quickly. 

“Sander, it’s okay. I know better than to interrupt someone when they are in the zone,” Professor Gabris says with a smile. “However, we are slaves to time and the next class will be arriving soon.” 

“What time is it?”

“Um, 16:30,” Professor Gabris answers, looking at his watch.

“Shit, sorry I have to go,” I say. “My friend is waiting for me.”

“Oh I think I saw him outside. He is being very patient.” 

“Patient? That can’t be him,” I joke.

“Sander, I wanted to talk to you actually,” Professor Gabris says trying to make eye contact with me, which I avoid. “Is everything okay, you know that you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I rush. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Sander, this is the second time this month that you have come in with bruises all over your face. I am concerned for…”  
“Oh, it really is nothing. You know me, I just have terrible luck.”

“Terrible luck? I don’t understand.”

“I got hit by a car a couple of days ago. Well actually it was more like I hit the car, I was on my bike,” I know that I sound ridiculous. “I really do have to go now.”

“Sander, I don’t believe that.”

“It’s the truth. Why, are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m not calling you a liar. Please, Sander I’m worried for you. Can you please just tell me if you are safe?”

We stare at each other for a few long moments in silence. “I think so,” I manage to answer before rushing out the door. 

Professor Gabris was right about one thing, the boy waiting outside really was there for me. I rush into a hug that feels like fresh air as soon as I see him. 

“Everything okay?” Robbe asks, his words muffled in my shoulder. 

“Can we go home now?” I plead. 

“Let’s go.”


	4. Thursday 21:21 (Sander's POV)

Ever since model studio yesterday, I can’t get this piece out of my head. I have to admit that I have been obsessing over it and spending all my free time working on it since yesterday afternoon. I went to bed late and woke up early to work on it at Robbe’s desk using the light from the small lamp next to his computer. I had just decided to finish for the night when the door to Robbe’s bedroom creaks open. Robbe slumps in and immediately face plants into the bed, a plastic bag from the drug store still in his hand. 

“Long day?” I ask with a sympathetic smile. 

“Ughh,” Robbe groans into his pillow. “Just one more day of exams and I am DONE!” 

I walk over to the bed and lay down next to him. I tangle the fingers from my good hand through his hair. “What’s this?” I ask poking the bag in his hand. 

“Oh it’s for you actually,” Robbe answers, emerging from the pillows, blushing.

“For me?” I ask, a mix of genuine and exaggerated shock in my voice. 

“Yeah, for you,” Robbe answers, handing the bag over. 

“Ooo,” I make a show of looking through the bag. “Ibuprofen...sexy. Bandaids...essential. Chocolate? I’m so spoiled! What’s this?” I ask pulling out a big bottle of vitamins of some sort. 

“Those are calcium supplements,” Robbe answers. “They are supposed to be good for helping broken bones heal. I thought you might want...I don’t know… it might help...its stupid, you dont have to take them if you dont want to.” 

“No its not,” I smile. It has been a long time since anyone has taken care of me like this. I almost forgot what it felt like. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Robbe whispers back after I move my face only centimeters away from his. I kiss him, lightly at first then quickly it becomes deeper, as it always does with us. Robbe pulls away, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Sander, don't get me wrong, I want to. But I don't want to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me,” it's only partially a lie. His touch feels so good, even when my body protests it. 

“Sander,” Robbe persists. 

“Robbe,” I mimic. “I’ll stop you if it does.” 

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I respond enthusiastically, rolling to be on top of Robbe. 

I deepen our kiss again, but Robbe is still holding back. I place both of my hands on his face trying to reassure him that I am okay, that I want this. My hands wander over his chest and down his sides and up through the bottom of his shirt. He gets the hint and lifts his arms so I can take his shirt off. His skin is soft against mine, my cast scraping across his chest is a brutal juxtaposition that I can't help but be aware of. His hands are giving me only the slightest of touches, which are still enough to give me shivers down my spine and butterflies in my stomach. But I need more, I always need more when it comes to him. He starts playing with the bottom of my shirt, lifting it up ever so slightly, his cold hands brushing my skin. This is a good sign, I guess. I sit up for a moment and take my shirt off. When I look back down at him, there are tears in his eyes. He is staring at the bruises on my chest and stomach. 

Neither of us say anything, neither of us bridges the gap to re-enter our kiss. Robbe reaches out and begins tracing soft lines around all of my bruises. “I hate that he did this to you,” Robbe says. 

I didn’t realize that I was crying until Robbe reaches up and wipes the tears away with his thumb. I lay back down, on top of Robbe, my face settled in the crook of his neck. He holds me as I cry. True sobs wrack my body, I cling onto Robbe like my life depends on it. He holds me tightly. What did I ever do to deserve love like this? 

Over time, the tears fade away and eventually stop. We are both laying on our sides now, looking into each other’s eyes. When Robbe looks at me like this, I feel like he is seeing straight into my soul. We are both exhausted, but I finally feel like I want to tell him everything, I am no longer afraid of how he will take it. I am no longer afraid that he will leave me, that he will see the true me and be scared away. 

“When did you know you were gay?” I ask out of the blue. 

“Hmm,” Robbe hums in the back of his throat. “Well when the rest of my friends started dating, and thinking about girls, I knew I was different. I didn’t feel any excitement in what they were talking about, it felt like they were a part of a secret club that I didn't have a password to. I tried to feel that way with girls, but when ever I tried I just felt like I was going through the motions. I think I always knew that I was attracted to guys, but I tried with everything I had not to think about it, to push it down, and to be normal. Then I met you. You were all that I could think about, when I looked at you I was consumed with wondering what your hair felt like, how it would feel to kiss you, to feel your body against mine. All I wanted was to talk to you and look at you and to have you look at me. When we kissed for the first time, it felt like my body was waking up, almost like it had been in a coma all this time.” I kiss Robbe lightly and trace his shy smile with my fingers, trying to remember exactly what it looks like. “How about you?”

“I don’t know. It kind of feels like I have always known, but at the same time I have always known that my dad wouldn’t allow me to be gay. I genuinely believe that he would rather see me dead than see me with a guy. All my life I have been walking on eggshells with him, his approval and his love have always been conditional. Whenever he saw me step outside of the mold he had set for me he would try to beat me back into it,” I sigh. It actually feels good to talk about this, to work out what I have been feeling for so long but not admitting.

“What about your mom?” Robbe asks. 

“My mom? Where do I begin? She never asked me to be anything other than myself. When we were alone, man we had fun. But at the end of the day she was dependent on my dad, she could never leave him, no matter how horrible he was. I think she refused to see the person he had become, she wanted him to be the person she fell in love with, but he hasn’t been that person for as long as I have been alive,” I trail off. 

“What happened to your mom?”

“She passed away two years ago, breast cancer.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” Robbe says, pulling me closer. 

“She was so strong, until her last day. My dad is weak. He started drinking, and that made everything worse. I tried to spend as little time at home as I could, I was practically homeless whenever he went on his truly horrible benders. When his captain threatened to fire him my dad got his drinking under control just enough to remember that I existed. His remembering meant that he would take out whatever he was feeling that day on me. When he was angry I would have bruises to hide the next day. He was always pretty good at hitting me where no one would see. When he got angry with me and when he hit me he always found a way to make it my fault. He’d say he was hitting me because I was a failure, because I was a faggot, because I would never achieve anything. I was so close to being done with it all. I spent all of my time trying to convince myself to run away or to kill myself or to kill him, but then I met Britt.”

“Britt made things better?” Robbe asks. He doesnt sound jealous, only curious. 

“Yeah, she became my best friend so fast. We were both heartbroken and I was able to talk to her about everything. She always knew I was gay. It was her idea actually to pretend that we were dating.”

“She was your beard?”

“Yeah, I guess she was,” I laugh. “She said all that she wanted was to keep me safe, and if lying was what we needed to do, she was happy to help. It was fun we did all the same things that we did as friends, but we would kiss at parties and tell people that we were in love. Things did get better with my dad, he was finally proud of me. I had a beautiful, blonde girlfriend, suddenly I was his son again. He even started showing an interest in my art, he actually liked it, he told me that I was good, that he could see a future for me with it. I’m not going to lie, even after everything he put me through, it felt good to have him on my side again.” 

“Is that why I saw you with Britt the other week? Were you keeping up the act for your dad’s sake?”

“Yes and no. When I met you, I knew that I had to be with you. I couldn’t resist, I couldn’t let you go without showing you how I felt. I forgot what it felt like to be afraid of my dad, afraid of what he could do to me. Britt agreed to continue covering for me, but I knew I would have to be careful. That night after the bar, reality set back in. I knew that if we had reported what those assholes did to us, my dad would find out and he would kill me. There were also rumors floating around school that someone saw me kissing a boy from a different school by the bikes. It was an absolute mess in my head. I wanted nothing more than to say fuck it all and be with you, to run away and tell you everything. I hated myself for asking you not to report what happened to us, I felt like the whole thing was my fault, that you got beat up only for being with me, that violence follows me wherever I go. Keeping up the charade with Britt was easy, it was safe. I convinced myself that I could keep up the charade and still have you, but I fucked that up severely. I heard that you were at that party, but you had left suddenly. I thought that I had ruined everything, that I had lost you forever.”

“You have me now,” Robbe says firmly. “And I’m not going anywhere. Everything is going to be okay now.”

“I want to believe that,” I sigh. “But I’m still terrified of my dad. He still has so much power over me, one word and he can force me to come back and live with him.”

“Not if he is in jail for what he did to you,” Robbe says. 

“He’ll never go to jail. He has connections, he will always get away with it. I just hope that he will leave me alone and forget about me. If I just lay low, he won’t come looking for me.” 

“People like him, they need to feel like they have power over people. Do you really think he will leave you alone?” Robbe asks. 

“Probably not, but what other choice do I have?”


	5. Friday 7:15 (Detective Naya Mills POV)

The mornings are almost too cold to bear on my morning runs, I’ll have to reactivate my gym membership soon. Nothing wakes me up better than the cold air filling my lungs. The apartment is nearly silent when I return, except for the soft hum of Amanda singing in the shower. Today she is performing what sounds like “Truth hurts” by Lizzo. 

I sneak into the shower behind her. She turns around with a grin on her face, happy to see me, no trace of embarrassment. As she turns I get a glimpse of her beautiful profile, she really does seem to be growing everyday. She is carrying the future of our family inside of her and I can't be more in love and excited. 

“Hey sweety, how was your run?” she asks. 

“Cold,” I whine. 

“Well step in and warm up,” she turns around again, stepping to the side. Our tiny shower is getting a little too small as she becomes more and more pregnant. I wrap my arms around her, pressing my chest into her back and kissing her neck. 

“You’re beautiful,” I remind her. 

“You better watch yourself,” she giggles. “We’ll be late.”

I want to be late with every part of my being. At home I get to spend time with the woman I love, in our beautiful yet shitty apartment. The only thing waiting for me at work is my dinosaur of a partner, his never ending, devastatingly boring stories, and endless hours sitting in a car or at a desk. Being a detective was something I always dreamed of being, don't get me wrong I have had some truly amazing days on the job, but most days are mind numbingly dull. 

The rest of our morning routine occurs in happy silence. There is a synchronicity to our movements, something that reflects the time we have spent together. She puts my curly hair into braids leading into a low bun, my usual. I make coffee and breakfast. She feeds the cat, and packs our lunches. We leave the apartment together and take separate turns down the sidewalk to our respective bus stops. 

“Tame the chaos and go shape some futures,” I say as a goodbye. My wife is a 3rd grade teacher. 

“Practice patience and do some good,” she responds squeezing my hand and kissing me on the cheek. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Good morning Richard,” I say as I approach my desk. 

“Good Mills, you’re here,” my partner responds in greeting. “Don’t bother taking off your coat, we have a safety check to do.”

“Okay, that’s a little odd right?” I ask. “Why were we assigned?” 

“It involves a fellow officer.” 

“Who?”

“Detective Driessen.” 

Richard fills me in as we drive to the Driessen residence. Apparently a teacher of Detective Driessen’s son reported a potential assault. His son Sander has gone to school with suspicious injuries multiple times in the past month, the latest time he arrived with his wrist in a cast. It is protocol to follow up in these situations, but domestic checks are usually conducted by beat cops and assigned to detectives if they find anything out of the ordinary. Richard informs me that Detective Driessen has been having a difficult time at work after his wife died two years ago, he has an excessive force allegation to his name. 

We arrive at the Driessen residence and Richard asks me to let him take the lead. He buzzes their front door twice, we were told that Mr. Driessen had requested the day off duty, so he should be home. Sure enough he is opening the door shortly after the buzzer ends. 

“Hello Mr. Driessen?” Richard asks in greeting. 

“Yes, how may I help you?” Mr Driessen responds. 

“I’m Detective Sumner and this is my partner Detective Mills. May we ask you some questions regarding your son?” 

“Is he okay? Did you find him?” something in Mr. Driessen’s voice makes me feel as though his concern is forced.

“What do you mean by that?” Richard asks. 

“Well,” Mr. Driessen begins, raking his fingers through his hair. “My son ran away from home a couple of days ago. He’s been going through a lot, isolating himself you know. I’ve been looking everywhere for him. Is he okay?”

“Well that is why we are here actually,” Richard continues, I can see some scepticism in his eyes as well. “We are here regarding a report made by one of Sander’s teachers. Sander arrived at school this Wednesday with some significant injuries, apparently not for the first time recently. We were hoping to find him and make sure that he is doing okay and to find out how he got those injuries.” 

“Oh my god, I knew it. That son of a bitch,” Mr. Driessen thinks out loud. 

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“My son has been seeing someone new recently. A boy. When was the first of these injuries the teacher noticed?” Mr. Driessen asks, with a peculiar look on his face that I can’t quite read. 

“His teacher noticed some facial bruising two weeks ago in addition to his injuries this week,” Richard responds. 

“It must be him. I think they started seeing each other around then. Sander has been so secretive recently and he has been spending so much time out of the house. When I confronted him about his behavior he became extremely defensive, that was why he left,” Mr. Driessen explains. 

“Do you know the name of this boy he is seeing?” Richard asks. He can't seriously be buying this story, can he?

“Robbe. Robbe IJzermans. I think he goes to a different school than Sander, but I saw his name come across Sander’s phone right before Sander and I argued. Please tell Sander to come home when you find him.”

“Thank you for your help,” Richard says, turning to leave. “We will be in touch.”

The door closes and we begin to walk away. Richard looks at me and says “That was a load of bullshit, don’t you think?.”

“Absolute bullshit,” I say in agreement. Maybe Richard isn’t so bad afterall.


	6. Friday 16:22 (Robbe’s POV)

It is a bittersweet feeling, walking home with Sander, his hand in mine. Nothing feels more natural to me than this, but the back of my mind is filled with the nagging drum of anxiety. I still get flashes from that night outside of the bar. The sinking feeling in my stomach comes every time someone in the streets stares just a little too long. The majority of my brain, however, is absolutely consumed in him, what he’s saying, the stories he tells about his day, his jokes, his warm hand squeezing mine absentmindedly. Majority wins as always, and I try to force the anxiety out of my mind, where it belongs. 

“Who’s that?” Sander asks, gesturing towards the front door of our apartment building. There are two people in suits, a man and a woman, standing outside ringing the buzzer at the front door. 

“No one I know,” I say, mostly disinterested. They are probably buzzing for someone else in the building. 

The woman looks down the street, she sees Sander and taps the man on his shoulder nodding in our direction. They start to walk towards us, I see the glint of a badge on the woman’s belt. They are detectives, the first thing that comes to my mind is the mural. Sander is the biggest romantic in the world, but he didnt think through how easy it would be to trace his project back to him. I’ve got an airtight alibi, however, it's called not being able to even draw a stick figure. Sander goes rigid next to me, no doubt realizing who they are as well. It pains me to know that he is anticipating his father has something to do with their being here. 

“Sander Driessen?” the woman asks. “Robbe Ijzermans?”

“Yes, and who are you?” Sander asks, I am surprised by the slight tinge of disrespect in his voice.

“I am detective Sumner and this is my partner detective Mills,” the older man says. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”

“Sure,” I answer, Sander is staring daggers at them “About what?”

“Actually we would prefer to speak with Sander alone,” detective Mills suggests. 

“I would prefer it if Robbe stays,” Sander fires back without missing a beat.

“Very well,” detective Sumner sighs, nodding at his partner. 

“We received a concerning report from one of your teachers, Sander, regarding your injuries,” detective Mills says, looking Sander up and down assessing his bruises that are only just beginning to fade. 

“Fucking nark,” Sander mutters so quietly, even I could hardly hear him. 

“We visited with your father this morning and he seemed to believe that your new boyfriend might have something to do with it,” detective Sumner says, almost as if he is reciting lines from a script. 

“Excuse me, what?” Sander splutters. 

“Your father noticed that the bruises began shortly after your relationship did…”

“And he is trying to pin this on Robbe?” Sander scoffs, his voice rising. 

“Well yes…”

“Have you seen him?” Sander argues. “He’s a fucking string bean. He would never ever ever hurt me! He would never hurt anyone. I mean, he apologized to the wall yesterday after he ran into it, for crying out loud!” 

“Please, calm down. We didn’t mean to upset…”

“Didn’t mean to upset me? Please,” Sander interrupts. “Do your god damn homework. Here hand me that notebook of yours. Here is the name of the doctor who saw me at the emergency room. I will call ahead and let her show you my file. It was my father who beat the shit out of me. It has always been my father, ever since I was little.”

“Those are some serious allegations…” 

“Yes they are,” Sander continues. “Tell my father, he went too far this time, I will be pressing charges.”

Sander hands detective Mills her notebook back, grabs my hand again and leads me past the detectives and through the front door of our apartment building.


	7. Wednesday 22:13 (Robbe’s POV)

The past few days have been rough, not going to lie. Sander hardly speaks, to anyone. He spends almost all of his time in the studio at his school. He arrives early in the morning and stays until late at night. The only time I see him is when I bring him food and when he stumbles in to our bedroom to sleep for a few hours, or more accurately lays next to me unable to sleep. He says that he is okay, that he is just stressed trying to finish his final portfolio for the semester. Most of the work he had done during the semester is still at his dad’s house, so it has been a lot for him to try to piece enough material together. When I asked him if he would like to talk to his teachers to get an extension he refused saying that this is the most inspired he has ever been. He doesn't want to take a break, he only wishes he could work faster. One of the only breaks he did take was to go in to the police station to file a police report detailing the years of assault his dad inflicted. He didn't sleep one second that night, neither did I, we both layed there in silence. 

“Hey Robbe,” Milan greets me when I wander into the kitchen. “Where’s Sander?”

“At the studio I think,” I respond. 

“Still?”

“Yeah, if I don't hear from him in the next fifteen minutes I am going to go down there and try to get him to come home,” I declare, deciding in the moment. 

“Okay,” Milan sighs. “Feel free to bring some of the muffins that I made.”

“I will,” I smile. “Thanks Milan.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I can hear his music playing from down the deserted hallways of his school. I round the corner, entering the only room with the lights still on. He has about six fans set up, drying various canvases and his music is playing loud enough to completely drown them out. He is sitting in a chair staring daggers into the canvas in front of him, he has paint all over his arms and a couple streaks on his face. I try my best not to look at the canvases laying around, he wants it all to be a surprise for me. He gets very agitated every time he catches me sneaking glances. From what I have seen so far, everything looks pretty dark, it makes me worried for him. Maybe it is good for him to be processing everything in this way, maybe this is the only way he knows how.

I walk through the door and turn down the music just as Sander throws the canvas he is working on onto the floor and yells, “Fucking piece of shit!” 

“Hey baby, calm down,” I sooth, walking towards him. 

“Oh hi,” he says to me distractedly. 

“What's the problem?” I ask draping my arms around the back of his chair and his shoulders. 

“This is the last one that I need to get done, and it just isn’t right,” he laments. 

“I’m sure you’ll get it eventually. You still have until Friday right?” I ask, trying to reassure him. 

“That's the problem, I already did it once. I don’t want to have to do it again, because the first time went so well,” he stresses. 

“But it's at your dad’s house?”

“Yes,” he answers, pausing, thinking. “That’s it!” 

“That’s what?”

“I’m going over there, now. I have to. I’m going to get my stuff,” he declares, standing up and reaching for his coat. 

“Wait wait wait. Hold on. Think for a minute.”

“Its all I have been thinking about,” Sander says, not stopping. “All of my art, all of my music, my clothes, it's all there. He has it all and I need it. Fuck most of that shit, but I need my art. My project will never be as good...it won’t be complete without it.”

“We can’t go alone, what if he hurts you again?” I reason. 

“He can try, he probably won't even be there tonight. I don't know, maybe he will be too drunk to do anything.”

“Sander, those are a lot of maybes. You know what he does have? A gun.” This makes Sander pause for a second. I take this opportunity to talk some sense into him. “First thing in the morning, we will call Detective Mills and have her help us go over there. All of us can come and help you move your stuff out. She will keep your dad at bay and we will all be there to keep you safe and make sure that we get everything. Please baby, be smart about this.” 

“Will you really come with me?” Sander asks, sitting down again. 

I kneel in front of him, placing my hands on his legs. “Of course I will go with you, just not tonight, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, tracing patterns into the backs of my hands. 

“Okay, now can we go home?” 

“Yes,” he sighs. “There isn’t anything else I can do tonight.” 

“Can I help you clean up?” 

“Sure, just don’t look at anything,” Sander scolds. There is a moments silence, broken by the sound of Sander’s stomach growling in hunger. 

“I brought you a sandwich and some of Milan’s muffins,” I say, digging through my backpack. 

“You are too good to me, you know that right?” Sander smiles, kissing my cheeks between every word. 

“I try my best,” I blush.


	8. Thursday 7:45 (Milan’s POV)

I wake up to Sander’s low voice talking on the phone from the living room. “And you think you could make that work? And my friends can come to help? Okay, good. Well it would have to be today, at the latest tomorrow morning, I need some stuff for school, the deadline is tomorrow evening. Thank you so much for your help.” 

“Good morning,” I croak, walking into the living room. 

“Oh good morning,” Sander says breaking from his haze. “Did I wake you up?”

“Who me? No,” I can tell that I sound like I am lying, but it makes Sander smile. It was worth it. “Who were you talking to?

“Detective Mills,” Sander answers. “I was asking her if she could help me get my stuff out of my dad’s house.” 

“That's good news,” I answer, I guessed as much but I am happy that he is talking to me about it. “I can help you move out if you want.”

“You’d do that?” he asks, looking at me with the saddest puppy eyes I have ever seen. 

“Of course,” I say. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sander and I make pancakes and bacon as we wait for the rest of the house to wake up. Shortly after starting the bacon Senne wanders in and sits on the counter as he waits for his coffee to brew. Zoe comes in moments later, her hair knotted from sleep. The last to wake up is Robbe around 9, we all sit around the small table sharing light conversation and good laughs. Everyone, with the exception of Sander is done with school for the semester, it is nice to have these lazy mornings together. Someone’s phone rings, Sander lifts his expectantly, likely hoping to hear back from Detective Mills. It was Robbe’s phone. 

“Hello Mama,” I hear him answer as he walks out of the kitchen. 

It takes a few moments for Sander to shake his disappointment and re-enter the conversation. Soon Robbe walks back into the kitchen looking like the weight of the whole world is resting on his narrow shoulders. 

“What’s up? Everything okay with your mom?” I ask.

“She’s having a pretty bad day apparently. She wants me to come visit her,” he sighs. 

“You should go,” Sander says softly, rubbing the back of Robbe’s neck. 

“I can't,” Robbe gives Sander a knowing look. “I’m going to help you today.”

“Its okay, she needs you. Plus, I haven't even heard from Detective Mills yet,” Sander reassures him. “Also Milan said that he would help.” 

“Help with what?” Zoe asks. 

“Moving his stuff out of his dad’s house,” I answer. 

“We can help too,” Senne chimes in. 

“See, I’m all set,” Sander says, kissing Robbe’s cheek. “Go see your mom.” 

“Are you sure?” Robbe asks one more time. 

“We’ve got this,” Zoe says, only the slightest trace of worry in her voice. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Detective Mills meets us outside of the apartment building Sander used to live in. She is standing in a parking spot, saving it for us. Her warm smile greets us when we step out of the car. I grab some of the duffle bags we brought to put his stuff into and walk up with the rest of our group. 

“So, fair warning. I wasn’t able to convince him to step out while we are here. He did however agree to stay in the kitchen. Will that work?” Detective Mills asks. 

“I won’t have to see him?” Sander asks, I squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. 

“No,” Detective Mills confirms. 

“We can do it for you if you don't want to go in there,” Zoe offers. 

“No, this is something I have to do. Besides you won't know where I hid everything,” Sander answers. 

We walk up the stairs and through the door of the apartment. Detective Mills opens the door without knocking. She goes in first and stands at the doorway between the living room and what I assume would be the kitchen. I can hear Mr. Driessen making coffee loudly in the kitchen, making sure we know that he is there. 

“This way,” Sander says leading us down the opposite hallway. He opens the door and quickly begins working. His room screams heterosexual man, Football posters all over the walls, trophies on the shelves, and muted blue colors for everything. Knowing Sander, I can't believe that this room ever belonged to him. The room is cleaner than any I have ever seen before, there is a thin layer of dust covering everything, the kind of dust that forms when a room has been vacant for a while. Everything is meticulously put away, and nothing is out of place. Sander disappears under his lofted bed removing the flap of cloth hanging from the underside of the bed. It becomes clear to me that he made a pocket to hide some of his canvases. 

“Thank god it's still here,” Sander sighs pulling a large canvas covered in brown paper out from the pocket. 

I can't shake the fact that for so long Sander must have had to push everything about himself down, to be safe. He had to wear a mask of someone he would never truly be. I am happy that he has the space now to be whoever he wants to be, and that he doesn't have to tuck everything he loves away into secret corners of his room. My heart breaks for all of the years he lost because of his dad. 

“Should I start putting your clothes into bags?” Zoe asks. 

“Yes please,” Sander answers not entirely paying attention, reaching under his mattress and pulling out a small photo album. Zoe walks over to the light brown dresser, carefully placing Sanders socks and shirts into the first bag. I take a second bag and walk over to his closet. 

“Wait a second, Milan,” Sander says, moving over to the closet. Sander crawls into the closet and removes a flap from the back wall of the closet. He pulls out several small notebooks, some packets of film and a host of art supplies, charcoals, paints, pencils, and paint brushes. “Okay, now go for it,” Sander gives his blessing. 

Senne starts packing up the stuff from Sander’s desk which is closest to the door. Senne puts his books into the two crates that we brought, his eyes flicker up through the door every few seconds, no doubt making sure Mr. Driessen isn’t coming. There isn’t much in the closet to pack away, only a few jackets and some hoodies. When I clear away everything I notice lines etched into the wall with dates marked next to each line. They are height markings over the years for two children, Sander and someone called Cassie. I am about to ask Sander who Cassie is, but I hear a loud thump from the middle of the room. 

“Got it!” Sander exclaims. He had removed one of the floor boards and his arm is in the hole now reaching for something. He pulls out a few wads of cash and his camera from deep in the chamber. 

“Woah, are you going to pull diamonds out of the lightbulbs next?” Zoe asks, lightening the mood.

“No, nothing that interesting. This is just what I saved up from working at the coffee shop,” Sander explains, Zoe’s comment making him laugh softly. 

There is a knock at the open door, Detective Mills is standing there with an old shoe box in her arms. “How’s it going in here?” she asks. 

“Almost finished,” Sander answers. “What’s that?” 

“Oh, your father wants you to take these,” She answers, holding the box out to Sander. 

“What are they?” he asks, holding the box sceptically. 

“He said that they are letters from your older sister,” She says. I can tell that this news shocks Sander, all he does is stare at the box tears beginning to form in his eyes, eventually he puts the box on top of one of the full crates Senne was packing, likely resolving to read them later. This is news to me as well, I never heard anything about Sander having any siblings, I don’t think it is something he likes to think about. 

“Your clothes are packed,” Zoe breaks the silence softly. “Is there anything else?”

Sander looks over the room, glancing over the Football posters and the trophies no emotional attachment in his eyes. “Oh wait,” he declares. “Excuse me.” He closes the door, revealing a David Bowie poster. He unpins it and rolls it up carefully. “Now I’m ready,” he declares.


	9. Friday 15:16 (Robbe’s POV) Smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexy time for y'all. Spoiler Alert: BJs ahead ;)

“Congratulations!!” I yell, pulling the string of a confetti popper as Sander walks through the front door. 

“Jesus, you scared me!” Sander laughs, pulling me into a tight hug. “What’s the occasion?”

“You are officially done with your first semester of art school. You have worked hard, poured your soul out onto canvas, and now you get a well deserved break,” I declare, through a broad smile. 

“How will we celebrate?” Sander asks with a cheeky grin. 

“Well first, you need to pack a bag,” I say, trying to be mysterious. 

“Oh,” he says, his face falling quickly. 

“Oh, what?” I ask confused. “We…”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Sander quickly says, refusing to look at me. “I understand. We went too fast, you need some space…I’ll just…”

“Wait wait wait. Rewind. I want you to pack a bag, because I planned a weekend trip for us,” I explain quickly. “I thought it would be nice to get away for a bit, relax, unwind, step away from all of the bullshit for a bit.” 

“Really?” Sander asks, his eyes hopeful. 

“Yes, you dork, I’ve been planning it all week,” I laugh. 

“Where are we going?” Sander asks curiously as I lead him to our bedroom to begin packing. 

“That, my love, is a surprise,” I answer. “All I can say is that you need some cozy clothes, and a swimsuit. Oh, and the train leaves at 7:30 tomorrow morning.”

“We never needed a swimsuit before,” he points out, referring to our first kiss. “Why would I need one now.” 

“Fair point,” I say, kissing him. It soon becomes clear that packing will have to wait, because our kiss doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. Sander is able to take off his shoes without breaking our kiss by balancing on one foot, leaning against me. When he is done I take off his shirt and he takes off mine. We are both present in the moment, nothing matters but him for me and me for him. I push him gently backwards and he falls onto the bed enthusiastically, opening his eyes for a moment wondering when I am going to join him. I climb on top of him, my legs on either side of his hips, my hands running along his chest and sides. I kiss the side of his lips and trace kisses down his jaw and to his neck. He gasps for air as I do this, he was holding his breath for so long. 

“I want to try something,” I whisper into his ear, leaving a kiss behind. 

“My body is yours,” he gasps back. 

I start kissing down his chest before I can psych myself out. Sander has given me head before, but I chickened out giving him a hand job instead. I want him to feel how good he made me feel a week ago. My lips reach his waistband and I look up at him as I unbuckle his belt. He looks so fucking happy, this reasures me knowing that I can do this for him. I take off his pants and his boxers and he groans expectantly. My hands rest on the sides of his hips and I hesitate for only a moment. 

“You don’t have to…” Sander begins, but cuts off as soon as I take him into my mouth. My mind doesn't comprehend what I am doing, my body takes over. All I know is that what I am doing is generating the sexiest noises from Sander I have ever heard. I find a good rhythm with my mouth and my hands and soon Sander is gripping the bedsheets and warning me that he is about to come. I ignore him taking him deep into my throat, he curses and I feel warmth shoot down my throat. Every part of his body is sensitive to my touch now, he shivers underneath me. I release his dick and begin slowly kissing my way back up to his neck. He places his hands under my arms and pulls me on top of him, kissing me deeply. Our smiles make it so we cant kiss anymore. 

“Where did you learn that?” he asks into my mouth. 

“You,” I giggle. 

“I did not do that good of a job,” Sander chuckles. 

“I don’t know about that, I’d give it 5 stars,” I laugh. 

“Let me try again,” Sander says, flipping me over so I am on my back, a giggling mess underneath him already. I can already tell, this weekend is going to be fun.


	10. Saturday 7:25 (Robbe’s POV) Smut

We fell asleep last night before taking the time to pack our bags. Thank god I remembered to set an alarm, because we had just enough time to throw some clothes in a bag and bike to the train station. I hold onto our tickets and try my best to distract Sander from looking at the destination boards. I think it mostly works, he hardly looks away from me the whole time we are at the station. We buy some croissants from a bakery near our platform and board our train. The train is mostly empty and we have no problem finding seats next to each other in the back of the car. 

Sander’s leg hasn't stopped shaking since sitting down. “Hey baby you okay?” I ask placing my hand gently on his bouncing knee. 

“Yeah, I’m just excited,” Sander smiles, kissing my cheek quickly. 

“Anxious, excited?” I ask, looking at him deeply. 

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Traveling makes me anxious sometimes.” 

“Here,” I say, handing him some headphones and pulling some out for myself. I plug both sets into my headphone splitter and start playing my favorite chill playlist. I take his hand in mine and he rests his head on my shoulder. I kiss the top of his head and his forehead gently and I can feel him begin to relax. He closes his eyes but never falls asleep. 

I remember seeing couples on the train in the past and being jealous, but also hopeful that one day that could be me, going somewhere with the person that I love more than anything. Now I can finally feel what it’s like, and nothing could make me happier in this moment. 

13:42--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We climb the stairs up to the deck of the cabin, Sander in front, I am behind him covering his eyes with my hands. I position him on the deck so he can have the best view. 

“You ready?” I ask.

“Are you kidding me?” Sander groans impatiently. “The anticipation is killing me!” 

I remove my hands from his eyes. “E voilà,” I sing into his ear. 

“Woah,” he hollers, looking out over the creek. “This place is amazing. How did you?”

“Jana has connections,” I smile. 

“Connections huh?” he giggles, turning around to kiss me. 

“Shall we go explore?” I ask. He nods enthusiastically. We leave our duffle bags behind, taking only my backpack. 

We spend the afternoon hiking around and exploring the river bank. Sander takes pictures every so often. He tries to pretend that they are only of the scenery, but I can tell that he is sneaking a few of me as well. I decide to let him get away with it, I am fascinated with the way that he sees me through his art. I have never seen myself that way. 

There is snow on the ground, but the sun is shining so it isn’t too cold. We reach the fire pit on the hillside and I make a fire. Sander sits down, warming his hands by the fire, thankful for the heat. The smile on his face hasn’t once disappeared since arriving here. I pull marshmallows from my backpack and Sander audibly gasps. 

“You spoil me!” he says as I hand him a stick. We eat smores and share sticky kisses until we are full. Sander purposefully lights the last marshmallow on fire, waving it back and forward like he is at a concert, he sings Space Oddity to his adoring crowd of one...me. 

After my free concert is over Sander leads me down to the water side to give me rock skipping lessons. He spends the first ten minutes collecting the perfect rocks. 

“Now we have to find the best position,” he says. “You need to be close enough to the water where you can throw parallel to it.” 

He jumps out onto a semi-flat, semi-stable rock just off of the sore. “No Sander, you are going to fall in,” I warn. 

“Don’t be silly, I have the best balance,” he boasts, with a grin. “Now you have to bend a little, keep your hand on the rock like this, and now it’s just a flick of the wrist.” 

Just as the rock leaves Sander’s hand he loses his footing and slides into the water behind it. He stands in the water just a little higher than his knees. From his face I can tell that the water is freezing cold. I can’t help the laughter that rages through my body, every time I look up at him I enter a new fit of laughter until I am rolling around in the snow on the river bank. He is laughing too, so I don’t feel too bad about making fun of him, plus I told him so. 

“Aren’t you going to help me out asshole?” he asks, faining annoyance. 

“Here, I’ll help you, clumsy boy,” I say reaching out my hand. The grin as he grabs my hand should have warned me, but my reflexes are too slow. He pulls me hard until I am standing in the water next to him. 

“It’s cold huh?” he laughs.

“Fucking freezing, thank you Captain Obvious!” I yell. “Let me go.”

“Don’t think so,” he declares. We wrestle in the water for a little bit until we are shivering too much. Trying to climb back up onto the river bank is difficult and we end up sliding in the mud a few times. I am really getting cold, but it is one of the most hilarious things I have ever been a part of. 

We finally make it onto the river bank, I am happy that our phones and Sander’s camera are safe in my backpack. We decide to race back to the cabin, because we are so cold. Sander carries the backpack for me, so I end up winning. 

18:18--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
SMUT

When we get back to the cabin we can’t take our clothes off fast enough. The water soaking our jeans has frozen, making the fabric stiff. We run up the stairs taking off our frozen clothes as we go. I get to the shower first and turn on the water as hot as it will go, which was a bad decision. I feel pins and needles all over my body as my skin warms up too quickly. Sander climbs into the shower behind me hugging me, his cold body making me shiver again. I step deeper into the shower so he can get more of the warm water on his body. 

“Shit shit shit, the pins and needles,” Sander complains. 

“I know, I don’t think I have ever been this cold,” I laugh.

“Here I’ll warm you up,” Sander grins, turning me around to kiss me. 

There are so many sensations coursing through my body right now, it is overwhelming. I am shivering uncontrollably, the water slowly making my body warm up. Sander rubs his hands all along my back and arms trying to warm me up with friction. My shivering gets so bad that I don't think I can kiss him anymore without accidentally biting his lips. He pulls me into a tight hug, kissing my neck, I can feel every part of his body against mine. The ridiculousness of this moment makes me giggle uncontrollably. Sander begins giggling as well. 

“You are actually the cutest person I know,” Sander confesses through our uncontrollable giggles. 

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” I say, tickling him. He begins snort laughing. “Oh thats a new one,” I tease. 

“Stop stop stop,” Sander gasps. “You are ruining my bad boy image.” 

“Bad boy, who?” I tease. “All I see is this giggly marshmallow boy.” 

“Rude,” Sander mocks offence. 

“Did I forget to mention that he is also hot as fuck?” I ask, kissing Sander deeply. 

Sander anchors his fingers in my hair, pushing our lips impossibly closer together. The water is streaming in between our faces, making me even more short of breath. My hands can’t decide where they want to reside, I hold his face, trace the muscles in his arms, run them along his back, tangle my fingers in his hair. I break our kiss for a moment and whisper, “I want to feel you inside of me.” 

Sander doesn’t open his eyes, but a blissful smile spreads across his face. He kisses me even more insistently than before, pulling our bodies closer together. I can feel him getting hard against my stomach. His lips move to my jaw and then my neck and I take this time to turn around. His arms hold me close as we walk out of the path of the shower. His left arm wraps around my chest, his cast resting on my collar bone, holding me tight. I don’t have time to get nervous before I feel him inside of me. I think this was the best thing he could have done, it feels like a stretch, but my body accommodates him almost immediately. It is unlike anything I have ever felt before, his throbbing warmth radiates through my entire body, I want this feeling to continue, to intensify. I begin moving my hips, Sander gets the cue and begins gently thrusting in and out, never fully leaving me. His right hand grips my hip, guiding me. My whole body is sensitive to everything. The warmth from his body behind me makes my heart beat faster, the cold tile under my hands gives me goosebumps. Sander hits something inside of me that feels absolutely mind blowing, he interprets my moans correctly and repeats that motion exactly. His lips and teeth latch onto the side of my neck, leaving marks behind as he begins to lose control. We are both so close. Sander’s right hand leaves my hip and wraps around my dick. This added friction makes be push back into Sander even more, he lets out a deep sighing groan and I know he has finished. He lowers us down so we are laying in the bathtub, I am still on top of him. When we lay back, I feel Sander even deeper inside of me than before. These last few centimeters make me come instantly. Sander holds me, tracing circles along my chest and sucking hickies into my neck as I come down off of my high. 

“Holy shit,” I gasp. 

“Holy shit,” he agrees, placing light kisses everywhere he can reach. 

I separate from Sander momentarily, leaning forward to turn on the faucet so the bathtub fills with what little warm water there is left. We lay in the tub lazily, holding each other, until the water turns cold and our fingers are so wrinkled we can't feel anything with them anymore. 

19:21--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We are sitting on the sofa wrapped up in a million blankets, eating the pizza that I ordered. It somehow tastes even better than pizza normally does. Sander insisted that we play the only game that this place has, it is the same trivia game that Jens and I played a little more than a year ago. Wow a lot has changed since then. 

“Where did the 1992 Winter Olympics take place?” Sander asks. I remember this question from the last time I played. 

“Oh that's a hard one,” I smile. “Was it Albertville France?” 

“Cheater. How did you know that?” Sander exclaims. “You weren't even born yet.”

“Re-watching Olympic games from before I was born is a secret hobby of mine,” I mess with him. 

“Is it really?” he laughs. 

“No,” I laugh, pulling out the next card. “Oh you will get this one for sure.”

“Oh no, are you setting me up for failure?” Sander rolls his eyes. 

“No, listen,” I grin, knowing that he will love this question. “In 2004, what object was thrown at David Bowie during a concert, damaging his eye?” 

“A lollipop,” Sander answers without hesitation. “It actually got stuck in his eye, a crew member pulled it out and Bowie continued playing as if nothing happened.”

“Oh God,” I cringe thinking about how painful that would be. “That is badass.”

“Okay next one,” Sander says getting competitive. “Who was the first president of the United States.” 

Great another card I have seen before. “That would be George Washington,” I say. 

“Fuck, you are too good at this game,” Sander grins suspiciously. 

“How much does the average American spend on their wedding?” I ask. 

“Do I just have to guess?” Sander asks annoyed, I nod. “Okay. I don’t know. $10,000?” 

“Nope,” I answer. 

“Higher or lower?”

“Higher.”

“$15,000?”

“Higher.”

“20,000?”

“Higher.”

“What, $30,000?” Sander gapes. “That can’t be true.”

“This says $29,000,” I say, showing him the card. 

“That is so ridiculous,” Sander exclaims. “What do they even spend it on?”

“I have no idea,” I admit, smiling at how outraged Sander is. 

“What would you spend $30,000 on if it were our wedding?” Sander asks, making me choke on my water. 

“Our wedding?” I cough.

“I will pick you up in a white limo Tesla,” Sander begins, I just stare at him smiling, not knowing what to say. “I will hire the best David Bowie impersonator I can find. We will serve those tiny, fancy sandwiches. And our rings will be made out of moon rock. And our guests will sit on silk cushions. There will be a petting zoo for the children. Oh and our ring bearer is a flamingo.”

“A flamingo?” I laugh. “And would all of this fit into the budget.”

“Oh right, I forgot about our suits,” Sander reminds himself. “Oh well, we will just have to go naked.”

“Naked?” 

“Well with a bowtie,” He allows. “It will be perfect, the statement that that would make. That we have nothing to hide.” All I can do is smile at this image, I can’t quite decipher the look in Sander’s eyes. “Take it or leave it,” he says leaning in close to my face. I kiss him as an answer. 

22:52--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We are back in bed now, nothing but our bodies and the sheets. Sander’s head is resting on my chest, his messy hair tickling my neck, his fingers playing with the chain of my necklace. He lets out a big sigh and I pull him in even closer. 

“In how many universes are we lying like this right now?” he asks. 

“In infinite ones,” I whisper, kissing his forehead. 

“Nowhere as happy as we are,” Sander smiles, he is probably right. “I wish that this would never end.”

“Me neither,” I agree, tracing his eyebrow with my thumb.

“Do you know what the only way is to hold onto a feeling like that?” He asks, staring at the ceiling. 

“Hmmm?”

“By dying with it.” 

I cant believe what my ears heard. I look at him and he doesn’t seem to be fazed by the idea of dying. The idea of him dying makes my stomach drop. “Don’t say something like that.”

“It was a joke,” he says, looking into my eyes, no smile on his face. 

“That isn’t funny,” I stress. He looks between my eyes and my lips and my eyes again, deciding to kiss me as an apology. 

23:31--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
*TRIGGER WARNING: Sander is found in a dangerous position, but without any intention of hurting himself*

The sound of Sander’s heavy breathing wakes me up. At first I think he is having a nightmare, but his eyes are wide open. I try to rub his chest soothingly, but he sits up suddenly and walks to the window. The wind is howling outside and some snow starts to waft in. 

“I’m hot, aren’t you hot?” Sander’s breathy voice begins to ask. 

“Close the window, you are letting snow in,” I say groggily. He listens but stays at the window rubbing the sides of his head. “Come back to bed, try to sleep a little more.”

Sander walks back to the bed and sits down just out of reach. His long arms are wrapped around himself, scratching at his back. His breathing isn’t slowing down at all. “Come here,” I plead. 

He listens this time and curls up next to me again, his breathing still fast and his eyes darting around. I try to breath loud and slow, trying to give him something to match his breathing to. I start to doze off again.

“I can't sleep,” Sander declares in a hazy voice, unlike his normal voice. “I’m going to go look at the stars, yeah that's what I am going to do.”

“Sander don’t lea…” I start, but I see him run out the bedroom door completely naked. As I untangle myself from the covers I hear the front door slam shut. “Fuck!”

I dress as quickly as I can, grabbing my phone and a blanket before I run after him. I run into the front yard and look out over the creek trying to see any sign of him. The full moon provides an eerie amount of light. I catch a glimpse of his pale figure running down the path. He is heading towards the damn. Sander has a massive head start on me, and I know that the cold is already going to be affecting his body. We need help. I call the police. 

I hear the emergency operator on the other end of the line. “Please, help. My boyfriend...I think he is having a mental breakdown. He is running around outside in the snow naked...he is running towards the damn, I’m trying to follow him. I’m afraid he might hurt himself,” I manage to gasp as I run after him. 

“Okay, what is your name, can you tell me where you are?” the woman’s voice asks. 

“We are staying in a cabin, #21 Roseville drive. My name is Robbe Ijzermans,” I cry. 

“What is your boyfriend’s name, can you describe him to me?” she asks. 

“His name is Sander Driessen, he’s 19. He has platinum blond hair, he is 5’7. He has a black cast on his left wrist. Please send help quick,” I plead. I am running as fast as I can, the snow is making me slide all over the place. The damn doesn’t look like it is getting any closer. 

“Does Sander have any history of mental illness?” she asks. 

“I don’t think so,” I say. “He is going through a lot right now though, and he hasn’t really been sleeping.”

“Okay keep me on the line Robbe. Can you see him?” she asks. 

“Yes!” I cry. “He made it to the damn, oh my god. He just climbed over the fence.” I push myself to run even faster. 

I get to the fence blocking off access to the damn, I throw the blanket and my phone over first, then climb as fast as I can. I run down the walkway on the top of the damn and I can hardly hear anything with the rushing water beneath me. I see Sander down the walkway, his silver hair glowing in the moonlight. He is methodically climbing onto the concrete railing. When he stands on top of the railing he begins hooting and hollering like he is having the time of his life. I run until I am only five feet away from him. I don’t want to startle him, but I have to yell to be heard. 

“Sander. What are you doing?” I scream. 

“Robbe, you made it!” He yells, a crazed smile on his face. “Come up here. The view is amazing. I feel so alive.” 

“Give me your hand, Sander,” I plead. I climb up onto the lower step of the railing, forcing myself not to look down. Just one momentary loss of balance and Sander is gone forever. I grip onto his outstretched hand with all of my strength. He is still hooting and hollering. He turns to look at me and for a moment, one foot isn’t touching the concrete. I need to get him down off of there. I make my decision without my brain catching up first. I pull him towards my side of the railing with all of my strength, grabbing onto his torso as he falls towards my side. Sander lands safely on top of me. I reach out for the blanket and wrap him up in it. He is shivering uncontrollably and he doesn’t even seem to notice. 

“Why are we on the ground?” he asks, confused. 

“You were going to fall,” I sob. 

“What down there?” Sander asks, looking through the slots in the concrete. 

“Yes, you scared the shit out of me,” I continue to sob. 

Realization dawns on him and he deflates in my arms. “I didn’t mean...oh my god...what is wrong with me?”

He begins to sob as well. We sit there sobbing and shivering until I see the ambulance lights in the distance. They come running down the far side of the damn and load us up onto a stretcher. From the light of the ambulance I can see that all of Sander’s skin is blue and white. His whole body is weak and the EMTs say that his pulse is weak too. They cover us in thermal blankets and heat packs. 

I hold him until the doctors take him at the hospital. I am left behind in the waiting room, covered in snow, with no clue what tomorrow will bring.


	11. The Following Week (Sander’s POV)

The days blur together as patches of time sewn loosely together. Time spent sleeping, time spent laying in bed awake, time spent with my thoughts racing, time spent with only one thought slowly repeating over and over. Time spent talking, time spent not saying anything at all. Sometimes I blink and an hour passes, sometimes the second hand on the clock freezes in place. At some point, I don’t know when, Milan drove us home to Antwerp and I admitted myself to a psychiatric facility here. The walls are bright and personalityless, all the furniture is inoffensive and sterile, but it is generically inviting if that makes any sense. Time could also be measured in periods when Robbe is with me and when he is not. He comes everyday when there are visiting hours, and stays for as long as he is allowed. 

Something that Robbe said the morning after he found me in the snow has stayed with me ever since, “I know this is scary, and at times it will seem hopeless. But please everyone is here to help you, all you need to do is lean into it.” 

My god I have been trying. I meet with a Psychiatrist every day and I force myself to talk as much as I can. Sometimes when our sessions are over I feel as though I will never be able to speak again. Robbe is there for me when I can speak, and he is there for me when I am stone silent. Milan, Zoe, Senne, and Britt cycle through every once in a while, maybe more but I don’t always see them. I hear snippets of what is happening in the outside world. Milan got a new job, Senne is nervous about meeting Zoe’s parents over Christmas, Zoe testified in court, Britt is leaving soon for vacation with her family. I am happy for them, I am happy to hear about what is going on, but the thought of joining them in the real world makes me overwhelmed. 

Robbe is sitting in bed reading a book and I am laying in his lap with my arms around his waist. Words are escaping me today but Robbe never forces me to speak, he lets me take the lead. I hear a knock at the door and it barely registers in my mind. I hear Robbe’s voice respond. 

“Hey Milan,” he says, not moving. 

“Hey Robbe,” Milan says softly, assuming that I am asleep. “How is he doing?”

I can feel Robbe shrug his shoulders. 

“How are you doing?” Milan asks Robbe. I am happy Milan asks, I am too scared to ask him myself. His answer terrifies me, I couldn’t live with myself if I broke him too. 

“I’m worried for him,” Robbe sighs. “I hope that I am not smothering him.” 

“Smothering him?” Milan asks. 

“Yeah,” Robbe says. 

“I don’t think you could, even if you tried,” Milan says. Milan is right as always. I shift to hold Robbe even tighter. I hope that this shows him that I love him, even when I can’t say it. 

Milan stays for a little bit longer, Robbe and Milan talk softly about things that I don’t really hear. I go in and out of sleep like I have been doing for a while now. My sleep is never a deep sleep, I have a hard time distinguishing between when I am slightly asleep or slightly awake. I do hear when Milan leaves, closing the door tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” I say to Robbe. For a second I think my voice is too weak to have reached Robbe’s ears. 

“For what?” He asks, sinking down in the bed so we are facing each other. 

“For how I am,” I whisper, our foreheads pressed together. 

“Don’t say that, I can see how hard you are fighting, I love you,” Robbe says firmly. 

“You don’t have to,” I barely make out. 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m giving you an out,” my voice breaks.

“Take it back. I don’t want it. I am not going to leave you, not a chance,” Robbe insists. 

“You say that now,” tears form in my eyes. 

“I’ll say it tomorrow too,” his voice is soft, with every emotion laced in his words. 

“I break things. I always have. I’m toxic. Everything I touch breaks,” my voice is weak, but I truly believe every word. 

“That’s not true, look at me,” he says, my eyelids feel heavy but I manage to open them to meet his. “Since the first day that I met you, your touch has only built the love that I feel for you.”

“You say that now,” I begin, Robbe sighs deeply. “But tomorrow I could do something, something destructive, I’ll hurt you, and you’ll hate me.”

“Hey stop it, you don’t have any idea about what will happen tomorrow, no one does,” he argues, he always fights so hard for me. “Here lets play a game: Sander and Robbe minute by minute.” 

“What are the rules?” I ask, closing my eyes again in exhaustion. 

“The rules are,” he pauses for a second. “We aren’t going to worry about what might happen ever. All we are going to worry about is what is going to happen in the next minute.” 

“Okay.”

“And in this next minute, we are going to kiss,” Robbe decides.

“That’s chill.”

“That’s chill,” he agrees, I open my eyes enough to see a smile on his face. I missed his smile. 

He kisses me softly, I kiss him back my body knowing what to do. It wasn’t until our lips met that I truly believed his love for me. Before it sounded only like words going into my head, but now I can actually feel it. In this moment I know he is telling the truth. I break down, hiding my face in his shoulder, holding him as tightly as my arms will allow. Years of pain seep out with my tears, my heart becomes lighter with every second being held by my guardian angel. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning I wake up cold, without Robbe’s body next to mine. I feel something brushing my neck. I reach up and feel a delicate metal chain. Robbe must have left me his necklace when he left last night. This small act makes me feel his loving presence, even when he isn’t here. 

Some of the mornings since arriving here I barely register when I do wake up. I just stay put where I am, doing nothing until a nurse comes in with food or to tell me to get ready for an appointment. This morning I get dressed on my own and sit down at the small desk they provided. Robbe brought some of my art supplies when I first arrived, but I haven't been able to touch them yet. I begin drawing, after the first stroke of my pencil I know that I am going to draw Robbe’s smile from yesterday. I can still see it clearly in my mind. 

Time slips past me, but in a good way, because I am doing something I love. The knock at the door actually startles me and I almost mess up my drawing. 

“Come in,” I say catching my breath again. 

“Ah, good morning,” the nurse greets me with a smile. 

“Yeah it is,” I agree. 

“Where would you like me to place your breakfast?” she asks. 

“Um,” I look at the desk and it is covered in papers and pencils now. “The bedside table please.”

She places the tray down gently and begins to walk towards the door again, “Oh also, Dr. V told me to tell you that she will be explaining her diagnosis today.” 

“Oh,” I say, this surprises and terrifies me. “Can Robbe come?” I ask without thinking, my subconscious knows that I need him with me. 

“Yes, Dr. V even suggested it,” she smiles. I sigh in relief. I’m pretty sure that Robbe is on a first name basis with all of the nurses here, they all seem to know him. 

“Thank you, Beveryly,” I say, remembering her name at the last minute. This makes her smile. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey Sander, it’s going to be okay,” Robbe reassures me, placing his hand on my knee that I didn't even notice was bouncing up and down. 

“What do you think she is going to say?” I ask. We are sitting in the waiting room for Dr. V.

“Whatever it is, it will be good to know right?” he asks. 

“I don’t know how I feel about placing a label on my brain. No one will see me the same again,” I confess. 

“You are still the same person you have always been, regardless of what she tells us today. And, yeah that part of labels suck,” Robbe relates. 

“Is there a good part about labels?” I ask, curiously. 

“Absolutely,” Robbe answers, he continues after seeing the confused look on my face. “Well labels can help us find others who have had similar struggles. It can help us find community and it can show us what others have done that helped them survive their struggles.” 

Robbe’s outlook on life never ceases to amaze me, his optimism and compassion are unparalleled. “You are pretty smart, you know that right,” I smile. 

“I don’t know about that,” Robbe blushes. 

My name is called and we walk up to the door, hand in hand, ready to hear what Dr. V has to say. 

Dr. V greets us from behind her desk, shaking Robbe’s hand and expressing how it is nice to finally meet him, making Robbe blush slightly. 

“Excellent,” she begins. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Nervous,” I admit, I realize that I am picking at my cuticles and I try to stop. 

“Ah, yes I expect so,” she says. “Well, receiving a diagnosis can be scary, but it is my goal for today that you leave feeling hopeful with some good ideas of what we can work towards in the future. How does that sound?” 

“Perfect actually,” I sigh, Robbe squeezes my hand lightly. 

“Well given your age, and the personal history you described to me, I believe that you have bipolar disorder,” she begins to explain, everything begins to click in my mind. “Bipolar disorders vary in severity between patients, but they are classified as a mood disorders in which a person experiences periods of depression and periods of mania, hypomania, or elevated mood. You indicated to me that, in the past, you have had periods of time when you felt extreme depression and times when you felt driven to complete large, sometimes unachievable tasks, I believe that these were some precursory symptoms of the disorder. More recently, at the cabin and the days before, I believe that you experienced your first manic episode.”

“What causes it?” I don’t know what brings me to ask this question, but it is my voice forming the words. 

“Nobody knows for sure,” Dr. V begins. “Research indicates that there is a strong genetic component, people with a genetic predisposition typically develop the disorder if placed under extreme stress, but not everyone with a genetic predisposition will develop the disorder. Additionally, the fluctuating sleep patterns that people with Bipolar disorder experience have been seen as a symptom for a long time, but it might actually be a contributing factor for causing manic episodes.” 

“What sorts of treatments are there?” Robbe asks. 

“Lithium coupled with Interpersonal and Social Rhythm Therapy can be extremely effective in stabilizing the moods of people with bipolar disorder. The fact that Sander has sought help so early is a great start, I truly believe that we will be able to find a treatment that works for you, Sander.” 

There is a long pause when I try to formulate what I want to say. “When you were talking about my phases of being extremely goal oriented,” I begin. “That’s when I told you that I was consumed with my creative projects, like my art, and my film, and my writing, right?”

“Yes,” she answers. 

“Well, I always thought that that was just because I was passionate about what I was doing,” I try, to explain. “Was that just mania all along, is it dangerous for me to get so consumed in my passions. Will I lose that with the treatment?” 

“No, it wasn’t all just mania,” she reasures. “I work with many patients with bipolar disorder and they are all passionate people people with goals. All people are passionate about certain things in their lives, and you will never lose that. What happens in a manic episode, in my opinion, is that whatever a person is concerned about or whatever they are feeling gets heightened to a concerning degree. What concerns me about your hypomanic and manic episodes is when you cease taking care of yourself. When your goal orientation keeps you from sleeping, eating, interacting with the people that you love, and when you become impulsive. Conversely, your depressive episodes keep you from participating in your passions at all. Treatment will not take away your passionate drive, it will allow you to have it more consistently all the time.” 

“Okay,” I sigh, leaning into what she is saying. I know I have a long road ahead of me, but Robbe was right, having a diagnosis makes me feel a little relieved. Dr. V, Robbe, and I talk for awhile longer about what to do next, and scheduling future appointments. I don’t want to jinx it, but I think things are finally looking up.


	12. Wednesday 17:21 (Robbe’s POV)

*Post Notification: @earthlingoddity made a new post*

earthlingoddity I've got the strangest feeling. This isn't our first time around.

sterkerdanijzer Through all of my lives. I'd never thought I'd wait so long for you. The timing is right. The stars are aligned. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My heart started racing when I saw the notification on my phone, and it hasn’t slowed since. Seeing myself, through his eyes in his art, that is something that will never get old, it is something I don’t think I will ever get used to. Knowing that he took the time to make something about me, for me, to try to express the way that he feels, gives me a light feeling in my whole body. When he shares his art, it is his love made public. 

The captions that he uses are almost always song lyrics, it is always a fun scavenger hunt to try to figure out what song it is from. I always imagine that when I find the song, we are listening to it at the same time. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Sander finally comes home I am sitting on the counter in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil for pasta. I am making dinner tonight, everyone agrees that I am probably the worst cook in the house, but I have been trusted to make spaghetti with meat sauce at least. 

“Hey baby, how was your day?” I ask, bringing him in between my legs for a hug. I like being taller than him when I sit on the counter. 

“Pretty good,” he sighs, sinking into my arms. “I got you something.”

“Really?” I smile. “It’s not even Christmas yet.” 

“I don’t want this to wait until Christmas, you’ll see,” Sander says, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small, flat velvet box. 

He hands it to me and I kiss him before opening it. I open it slowly, not knowing what to expect. A silver necklace is waiting inside of the box for me. It is the silver version of my guardian angel necklace that I gave Sander in the hospital. When he tried to give that one back to me, I refused, saying that I wanted him to have it. It makes me happy to have this from him to keep with me. 

“I love it,” I pull him close to me, kissing him deeply. “It’s silver, like you.” 

“I’m silver?” he asks, with a grin on his face. 

“Yes, it is definitely your spirit color, Jack Frost,” I laugh. 

“Fair enough,” Sander says, taking the necklace out of the box, gently clasping it around my neck. His hands linger on my chest and migrate to my sides pulling me close. We kiss passionately until the water boils over, hissing as it hits the hot stove. 


	13. Thursday 10:15 (Sander’s POV)

Detective Mills is already waiting on the bench when I round the corner. She has an extra coffee and hands it to me in greeting. 

“How are you?” She asks in a way that makes me feel as though she wants a genuine answer. 

“Much better today, this is the first time in years that I am actually getting excited for the holidays,” I answer honestly. “And you?”

“I’m all right, thank you for asking,” she smiles, we sit in silence sipping our coffee for a few moments. It is a warm day, a nice break from the winter breeze. 

“So…” we say in unison, making us both smile. I let her continue. 

“So, I had a meeting with the attorney for your case, and he has some questions he would like me to ask you,” she begins. 

“Questions?” I ask worried. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, your father has hired a very accomplished defense attorney. They are doing their best to find witnesses for your father’s version of events,” she sighs. 

“His version? I thought the evidence is on our side,” I say, a wave of exhaustion flowing over me. 

“Well, that’s the thing with these cases, they will try to explain away the evidence, it is all about creating doubt,” she says, I can feel empathy in her voice. “But maybe there is something that we missed, something that would help your case.”

“Like what?” 

“Like, if there is someone that could confirm what you went through. Someone that maybe saw something, someone that you talked to back then,” she begins. “Was there a friend, a coach, a teacher that you opened up to at any point?”

“I never told anyone. I was too scared.” 

“Were there any family members that you were close to, anyone who may have seen your family at holidays?” she continues. 

“No, really there was no one. I have no family left. I don’t know what to tell you, my parents were both only children, my grandparents are dead, my mom is dead, my father never allowed my mom to have friends. There was no one.” 

“What about your sister?” she asks softly. 

My sister. The word takes the breath from my lungs, pain grabbing my chest again. I haven’t allowed myself to open that shoe box since the day I moved my stuff out of my dad’s house, nothing she could ever say would make the fact that she left hurt any less. “My sister left us as soon as she was old enough, I have no idea where she is. She didn’t even show her face when my mom died, she wouldn’t come for this.” 

I look off across the park, willing myself not to cry. My eyes register all the people going about their days, their hearts probably lighter than mine has ever been. “Is there anything else?” I ask, harsher than I meant to.

“Yes actually,” she says, nicer than I deserve. “I’ve been looking into the night when you and Robbe were assaulted outside of the bar. I wasn’t expecting to find any CCTV, after this much time, but it turns out that there was already a report on file.” 

“But we never…Did Robbe?” I begin, confused. 

“No, I know. It turns out that the boys who hurt you were boasting about it at school the next day. One of their friends who wasn’t involved in the assault, reported them to the school. The school worked with the police and found the CCTV footage. The boys were expelled from school, but without knowing the identity of the victims, the police couldn’t continue with their investigation. They have since handed over their investigation to me. The evidence is there if you and Robbe would like to press charges.” 

“Woah, that’s amazing news,” I gasp. “And also my father can’t blame my injuries on Robbe anymore...can he?” 

“No he can’t.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRIGGER WARNING: Cyber Bullying

“Hey, baby are you home?” I call into the apartment as I take off my shoes. There is no answer, but I can hear Robbe’s game from the living room. He probably has his headphones on. I throw my backpack into Robbe’s room as I walk down the hall towards the living room. I stand outside the door and see Robbe on the couch. Robbe has abandoned the game, allowing his character to die. Robbe is staring at his phone, the most peculiar look on his face, I think it is fear. 

“Robbe, are you okay?” I ask. Robbe looks up, startled. He jumps up off of the couch, running past me. He looks like he is about to be sick. He runs down the hallway and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him, locking me out. 

“Robbe, what’s wrong? Let me in,” I beg. I hear him retching into the toilet for a few moments, then I hear the running water of the faucet. Robbe appears to be numb to my pleas to be let in, I can hear him gasping for air on the other side of the door. I think he is having a panic attack. I run down the hallway, grabbing a paper clip from Robbe’s room, and I grab his phone from the living room, hoping that it will give me some answers. The screen has been locked, hiding whatever it was that made him so upset. 

I am outside the bathroom door again, I no longer hear Robbe’s panicked breathing on the other side, but the water is still running. I unwind the paper clip and force it into the small hole on the doorknob, causing it to unlock. I find Robbe standing in front of the sink, staring blankly at the water disappearing down the drain. His arms are braced on either side of the sink, holding himself up. 

“Robbe, what's wrong? Talk to be, baby,” I plead, walking towards him. 

“It’s nothing,” Robbe mutters, standing up, wiping his hand across his face quickly. 

“Come on, I don’t believe that for one second,” I try to look into his eyes, but he avoids mine. “Talk to me.” 

“I told you, it’s nothing. I can handle it,” he says, his voice growing slightly louder. 

“Handle what? Did something happen? Is it your mom?” I ask in rapid fire. 

“No, she’s fine,” Robbe shrugs off my questions. “It’s just bullshit, online. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Anything that makes you this upset matters. It matters to me, please let me help you,” I press, forcing him to look at me. I can see the glassy glint in his eyes, I can tell that he is about to start crying. 

His eyes bore deep into my soul, and his face loosens a bit. He sighs and admits “Some asshole has been messaging me.” 

“What asshole? Where? What are they saying?” my worry is making me spiral. 

“On instagram,” Robbe says turning away from me, pacing small circles around the bathroom. “It started with a comment, then I deleted it. Then they started DMing me. I tried blocking them, but they keep making new accounts.” 

“Robbe, honey. How long ago did this start?” I ask, heartbroken that he has been dealing with this all alone.

“They commented on that first post, the first one of us,” he confesses. 

“But Robbe, that was weeks ago.”

“I know,” he begins to cry, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“I thought I could handle it on my own, and I didn’t want their words to hurt you as well,” Robbe says. 

“You don’t get to do that,” I say.

“Do what?” 

“Bottle everything up, go through things alone,” I say, trying my best to keep my anger over the situation out of my voice. “That isn’t what we signed up for, I am here for you, through the good and the bad. If something is bothering you, I want you to talk about it with me, no matter how bad it is.” 

“I tried so hard not to let it bother me, and it didn’t, nothing would make me feel bad about loving you. But then today, they really scaring me.” 

“What did they say?”

“You don’t want to know,” Robbe insists, trying to be brave. 

“Robbe, come on, what are they saying,” I insist, handing Robbe his phone. “Show me.” 

Robbe unlocks his phone and hands it back to me. He doesn’t even want to look at it, acting like it is poisonous. He sits down on the floor, bracing his head against his knees. I open instagram and pace expectantly. 

I open his DMs, selecting the newest conversation. There is a picture, from far away, of Robbe with Jens, Moyo, and Aaron at a cafe. Robbe in the picture is wearing the same clothes as Robbe is wearing right now, the picture is from today. The message underneath the picture says:  _ You think you are safe, but your friends won't be there to protect you next time.  _

“What the fuck,” I gasp, scrolling down to the next conversation. It is from a different account. 

_ You blocked me? Thats cute.  _

_ You can’t get rid of me that easy.  _

_ I am around every corner, ready to finish what I started _

Another conversation from earlier:

_ Watch your back fucking fairy, you and your bitch boyfriend _

_ You will pay for what you did to me. Burn in hell faggot  _

“Robbe,” I sob, sitting on the floor to hold him. “Do you have any idea who this could be?”

“The first comment said ‘I guess you didn’t learn your lesson. Just die already.’ I deleted it before anyone saw it,” Robbe says, barely looking up at me. “I think it might be one of the guys from outside the bar. But I don’t have any idea who that could be. He’s a fucking ghost.” 

“No he is not,” I say, pulling Robbe close. “He is a pathetic asshole who is going to pay for what he is doing to you. For what he and his asshole friends did to us.” 

“But we don’t know who they are,” Robbe says, collapsing into my chest. 

“Yes we do,” I say, holding Robbe’s head my fingers tangled in his hair. “Someone from their school reported them after they were boasting about attacking us. They were expelled from school, and the police have all of the evidence, waiting for us. Detective Mills just told me today.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. We can put those assholes in prison, for this, for stalking, and the assault. They will never hurt you again,” I promise. 

“They aren’t the only ones,” Robbe cries, spiraling again. “There will always be assholes who have a problem with us.” 

“Probably. But they are wrong. Anyone who has a problem with our love, with something so beautiful, they are the ones who are wrong, not us. I promise you, you will never have to face them alone, I will be here by your side, forever, to remind you what we are fighting for,” I vow. “I pray that one day, we won't have to worry about this shit, but until then I am here, our friends are here, everyone who matters will have our backs. And we will never let the assholes get away with it again.” 

“Okay,” Robbe sighs, closing his eyes and placing his forehead against mine. 

“Okay,” I repeat, breathing deeply into our shared space. Regrets are swirling in my head, but I feel a drive forming, a drive to be better, to show Robbe that he will never be alone in his struggles ever again. 


	14. Friday 9:15 (Robbe’s POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some reminders about what has happened in this story thus far:  
> \- Britt and Sander were/are good friends. She was an aware and willing "Beard" for him, hoping that it would make his home situation a little better.  
> \- It was revealed that Sander has an older sister (Cassie) who left the house once she was old enough  
> \- When Sander went to get his things from his abusive father's house, his father gave him a shoebox full of old letters supposedly from his sister. Sander has yet to bring himself to read those letters.  
> -Oh also Senne and Zoe are still together, because I am not as cruel as the WTFOCK writers

I wake up without Sander next to me, but I feel the soft crinkle of paper under my hand when I reach out towards his side of the bed. 

On the front there is a pencil sketch of Sander kissing me on the forehead while I sleep. On the back there is a note, written in his messy, slanted handwriting: 

_ Good morning beautiful! _

_ I had to leave for my appointment with Dr. V. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you up. I hope that you are still free, because I have something special to show you tonight. Wear something nice and be ready to leave at 16:30. I love you!  _

_ -Sander _

Sander hasn’t left me in bed without an explanation since he unofficially moved in. Nothing beats waking up in his arms, but this is a close second. I open my phone and send a few texts. 

_ To Sander: Good morning cutie. I hope you have a good session with Dr. V. Do I get to know what is happening tonight?  _

_ From Sander: Nope. It’s a surprise!  _

I suddenly remember that Jens had said ‘See you tomorrow night’ when we left the cafe yesterday. I can’t remember the plans that I made with the boys, but I decide to text him. 

_ To Jens: Sorry I can’t hang out with you guys tonight, Sander has a surprise planned for me apparently.  _

_ From Jens: No, I know. We are coming too.  _

_ To Jens: Really? What is it? Why do you know about it, and I don’t? _

_ From Jens: My lips are sealed… _

That’s weird, does everyone know about this mysterious surprise, except me? Why would Sander tell Jens and not me? Maybe Milan knows something as well. I get out of bed, my body creaking in protest. I throw the closest shirt on, it is one of Sander’s. The black one with David Bowie on the front, it is a little big on me but it feels soft against my skin. I walk towards the kitchen, hearing my roommates making coffee. 

“Good morning,” Zoe greets with a smile. 

“Good morning,” I say, opening the cabinet to grab a mug for tea. “Do any of you know what Sander is planning for tonight?” 

“Maybe,” Milan says with a sly smile. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I groan. “Why do you guys know?” 

“Well I was home when he got the news,” Zoe says defensively, earning a stern look from Milan. That look screams for Zoe to stop talking. 

“What news, please, someone tell me what is going on!” I whine. 

“You will find out in...about...8 hours,” Milan teases, looking at his watch and doing a quick calculation in his head. 

“This isn’t fair,” I complain. “I assume that all of you have received an invitation to this mysterious event as well?” 

“I wouldn’t call it an invitation actually,” Senne chimes in, laughing. “We more demanded to be allowed to come.” 

“I am so confused,” I sigh. “I just don’t understand why he would tell all of you what it is, but not me.” 

“I think he is most worried about your reaction to it,” Milan thinks out loud, realizing that he has said too much. 

“Seriously Milan! Just tell me, everything you are saying is making me want to know even more,” I pout. 

“Nope, I have said too much already. Let yourself be surprised, my son. I promise it will be worth it,” Milan coos, patting my shoulder. 

“Oh god. Okay!” I concede. 

16:00--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am listening to Sander’s Bowie playlist and reading a book in bed when Milan bursts through my door. “You aren’t getting ready yet!” he asks, incredulously. 

“No, should I be?” I ask, rolling my eyes. I have almost gotten used to Milan bursting into my room...almost. 

“I guess not, because then you would have had to change anyway,” Milan admits, placing a large shopping bag onto my bed. 

“What is this?” I ask, skeptically poking through the bag. 

“Your outfit for tonight,” Milan declares. “You will wear those nice dress pants and shoes that you have with it.” 

“You’ve been through my closet?” I ask unsurprised, but still a little uncomfortable. 

“Only a little,” Milan lies. “Now put it on, I need to see my creation. 

“Okay, can I have some privacy?” I ask, walking towards my closet to get the pants and shoes. Milan turns around, his back facing me, giving me the bare minimum of privacy. “Seriously?”

Milan shrugs in response and I decide not to argue with him. I pull a black bomber jacket and a subtly patterned silk button down shirt out of the bag. “Milan, seriously, are you dressing me like you? I don’t want to be matching with you tonight.” 

“Don't be absurd,” Milan scoffs. “Don’t worry, I will be wearing a tasteful turtleneck sweater tonight.” 

“Okay,” I say skeptically. I get dressed quickly, leaving the tags on. The clothes feel weird on me, but when I look at myself in the mirror I am surprised by how good it looks. It looks different, but everything fits really well, and I like how the shirt opens showing the silver necklace Sander bought for me. 

“Can I look?” Milan screams, not able to contain his excitement. He turns around and looks me up and down. “Yes! Amazing! Perfect...wait…almost. You can’t wear socks with that though, and let me roll your pant legs a little.” 

Milan makes a few alterations, tucking in the shirt a little, rolling up the pant legs, clipping the tags off, and finishing by messing up my hair. “Now it’s perfect,” he declares. It all still feels a little weird to me, but I have to agree with him. 

“Thanks,” I smile. “Now will you tell me where we are going?” 

“No!” Milan yells, offended that I would ask again. 

16:30--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ta da! Ladies and gentlemen, behold my creation,” Milan announces to the living room before I walk in behind him. 

Milan is wearing a maroon colored turtleneck sweater, his gold earring in his right ear, with black slacks. Zoe is wearing a beautiful dress, with an artistic pattern and an uneven hem line. Senne is wearing a dark blue button down with silver buttons, that complements Zoe’s dress. My eyes meet Sander’s and he looks amazing. His outfit is simple, his charcoal pants, black combat boots, and a long sleeve button down shirt with a watercolor pattern of blue and grey colors. His shirt is unbuttoned slightly, so I can see the gold twin to my necklace, his cast is almost unnoticeable under his sleeve. When he sees me, a smile spreads across his face and I feel instantly embarrassed, and like I need to change into my normal clothes again. 

“You look amazing,” he smiles. My brain tells me that he is making fun of me. 

“I hate it,” I blurt. “Its cold, and I feel like everyone can see my nipples.” I can feel my cheeks turning bright red. 

“Don’t be silly,” Milan groans. “You look perfect and no one can see your nipples!” 

Sander walks across the room and kisses my forehead. “Honestly baby, you look fantastic!” 

“Really?”

“Really,” he grins. The look in his eyes makes me calm down again. He grabs my hand and we all walk out of the apartment. We walk to the train station, board a train, and continue walking after it arrives at its destination. My hand never leaves Sander’s. Walking together, with our friends around us, my heart is light and my mind no longer wonders where we are going and what we will be doing when we get there. 

17:00--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We arrive at a large gallery about a block away from Sander’s school. According to the signs this is the end of semester showcase for his school. Butterflies start bouncing around my stomach at the thought of finally seeing what he was working on. We mingle in the lobby for a while, Sander introduces me to some of his friends from school. Britt and Noor were already here when we arrived, they stand close to each other, sharing private conversations and I can't help but wonder if they are together now. My friends arrive a few minutes after we do, they all look like they dressed up for the occasion. Even Yasmina, Jana, Luca, and Amber came. I peek at the artwork around the lobby for any sign of Sander’s work, I soon realize that everything in this first room was done by teachers at the school. After a while of mingling, the crowd is shuttled into a room with a small stage and asked to take their seats. Our group takes up a whole row in the middle of the cluster of chairs. Sander and I are closest to the right edge of the row, Sander insists on sitting next to the isle. As soon as we sit down, Sander begins fidgeting nervously. 

“Everything okay?” I ask worried. 

The lights dim and a man I recognize as Sander’s model studio professor climbs onto the stage. Sander squeezes my hand nervously, I rub circles on the back of his hand willing him to calm down. My eyes linger on his face, trying to read what is going on. He smiles and motions for me to pay attention to his professor. 

“Good evening everyone and thank you for coming,” Sander’s professor greets the crowd, the crowd cheers in response. Sander’s hand is growing sweaty in mine, I can almost feel his heart racing. “Tonight we celebrate the amazing art created at our wonderful school this semester. This showcase is a tradition 50 years old, since the creation of our beloved school. This year we saw some truly superb work, commenting on the lives of our talented student body and their experience in the world we live in. Every student is included in tonight's showcase, at least one work from each student has been selected by the teaching staff. But, as many of you know, each year one student is selected to display their entire portfolio submission. This student is recognized by the teaching staff as having a unique voice that must be shared with the world. This year is marked with a particularly special primary exhibit, seeing as this is the only time in our school’s history that a first year student has been selected as the highlight artist. So, without further ado, Sander Driessen, please take the stage.” 

The applause from the crowd is deafening, everyone in our group cheering as loud as five people would. I am absolutely shocked. Sander gives me a shy smile, before walking up to the stage. I shake myself out of my stooper just in time to clap numbly until he shakes his professor’s hand and steps up to the microphone. 

“Thank you,” he says, embarrassed. He takes a shaky breath and looks at me. “For my entire life art has been my one constant. Through the good and the bad it is the way that I have made sense of the chaos that is life. This year has marked the breaking point for what remained of my biological family, but also the beginning of my chosen family. The people that I found this year have picked me up no matter how many pieces I shattered into, they inspired me every day to create, to love, and to continue on this amazing journey. I would like to thank my teachers, my classmates, my friends old and new, and most importantly… the love of my life … Robbe.” 

The crowd cheers loudly again as Sander steps off of the stage. He begins having a hushed conversation with the professor who introduced him, while the Dean of students shares a few words. I don’t hear anything that he says, but when he is finished the crowd begins to disperse throughout the studio. My eyes never leave Sander, of all the people in the world, I still can’t believe that someone this magnificent, this otherworldly could exist. I feel eternally grateful that my path crossed his, in the chaos of our universe we met at precisely the right moment. 

My legs return to this world and lift me from the plastic folding chair and towards Sander. He has since finished his hushed conversation with his professor and begins to walk shyly towards me. “Surprise!” Sander mutters, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes track my every movement, every muscle in my face, trying to read me. “What do you think?” he asks nervously. 

“I am so fucking proud of you!” I say, pulling him into the tightest hug I can manage. His arms wrap instinctually around my waist and I can feel his smile against my shoulder. “You are truly extraordinary,” I say, staring into his emerald eyes. 

“I don’t know about that,” Sander breaks eye contact. “I never thought in a million years that they would ever choose me…”

“They would be stupid not to,” I mean every word. 

“You haven’t even seen any of it,” Sander blushes, continuing in his self-deprecation. 

“Well, whose fault is that?” I tease. “Will you show me now?” 

“Yes,” he says still unsure. “About that, the exhibit is closed, waiting for me to walk through first, so I can, you know, talk to people after they go through it. We can go through it together, if you want.” 

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I grin, like an idiot. 

“I’m really nervous,” Sander says through shaky breaths. I believe it, this is the most nervous I have ever seen him. 

“That’s allowed,” I squeeze his hand. “But it would be a monumental shame if no one ever saw your work, now wouldn’t it?” 

“You are really the only one I need to see it,” Sander sighs. “And that’s what’s making me nervous. What if it is all too much, what if it is all too personal? What if people see it and think I am an absolute lunatic?”

“You are never too much,” I implore. “If I had any talent at all I would have filled every wall in Belgium in homage to how incredible I think you are.” 

“Every wall?” Sander smiles, despite his nerves. “Do you even know how long that would take?”

“Not a clue,” I admit. “But I would find a way.” 

“You’re sweet,” he grins, stealing a kiss. 

“And you’re officially stalling,” I pull away coyly. “Now can we please go see it?” 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking my hand and slowly leading me down the hall. We pass by long hallways and large rooms filled with the art of Sander’s classmates. Everything is so amazing, and overwhelming. I feel like every genre, style, and subject matter is represented on these once empty walls. If this is what Sander was measured against, I can’t even begin to imagine what he must have created.

We reach a doorway carved out of a wall that reaches almost to the ceiling, the doorway is blocked off with a red velvet rope. Sander’s name is printed on the white wall in large black lettering. I wink at him when he catches me looking proudly at his name on the wall. There is a small line forming, made up of our friends eagerly waiting to be let in. Sander walks me past the line and we duck under the rope, jealous noises coming from the line behind us. I can feel the nerves coiling in my stomach as well, but I cling to Sander’s arm letting him lead me into a dark room with a projector set up to project directly onto one of the white walls. 

“So this is the first room,” Sander begins to explain, leading me to sit on one of the benches. 

“There are multiple rooms?” I am shocked. Sander smiles endearingly at me and kisses my temple. I somehow manage to peel my eyes away from his nervous smile in time to catch the beginning of the animation from the projector. 

The video consists of a flip book style of animation, drawn in pencil unmistakably by Sander. The video begins with the header of a lined piece of notebook paper, it is filled in letter by letter with the words ‘Introduce Yourself’ in Sander’s slanted handwriting. There is a pause and a young boy appears on the page, it is a mini Sander, all messy hair and knobby knees, his smile too big for his face. The pencil boy comes alive and begins running around a school playground. Young Sander bypasses the swings and jungle gym, running straight to the garden. He plays with the bugs, admiring the flowers with the gentlest of touches. 

I can feel current Sander’s eyes on me, analyzing the content smile on my face. I squeeze his hand as the Sander in the video begins picking bright yellow dandelions and putting them into a bouquet. The flowers are the only color to be seen. Suddenly an object zooms into frame, a checkered black and white football. The ball knocks the flowers out of Sander’s hand scattering them across the playground gravel. Sander’s skinny hands pick up the ball and he looks off towards where it came from. It came from a group of boys who now beckon him to come join their game, they are missing a goalie. Sander momentarily considers the flowers on the ground, and resigns to join the game. 

The video cuts to the end of the school day. There is a taller girl waiting for Sander outside of his classroom. Her hands are behind her back, when Sander runs towards her she brings out a dandelion flower crown from behind her back. Sander hugs her and she places the crown in his wild hair, taking his hand as they walk home. 

The siblings arrive home to their mom, after school snacks waiting for them. His mom smiles at his flower crown, adjusting it so it is centered among his curls. A dark cloud in the shape of a man rolls in on the happy scene. A fowl wind nocks the flower crown off of the now terrified boy, where it falls onto the floor to wilt. 

The screen reverts to white and the lights in the room brighten, signalling the end of the video. I realize that I had been holding my breath, and tears had been forming in my eyes. I look at Sander, he seems to understand that my words aren’t coming right now. I hold him closer as we move on to the next room, his muscles seem to be relaxing slightly under my touch. 

The next room is large and has high ceilings. Upon entering we are immediately met with a large, dark charcoal drawing. It is a bird’s eye view of hands, Sander’s hands, his fingers twisted in unnatural angles. The small black placard next to the canvas reads ‘The Fate of the Naughty Child.’ 

“Your father?” I breath. 

I feel Sander nod against my shoulder, from where he stands behind me with his arms wrapped around me. “The story used to be that I broke them during football practices. I never knew when it would happen, his mood would change and he would twist my fingers until they broke.” 

I reach behind me, stroking Sander’s hair the tears flowing down my cheeks now. With every step, the true strength of the man behind me becomes more and more clear. 

We turn the corner and I look ahead slightly, seeing the scope of the exhibit in front of me. There are two curving metal plates making a wave pattern, that stretches across almost the entire room. Within the space made by the bars are hundreds of sketches and pictures. I begin looking closer and I realize that the images are arranged in chronological order. Beginning with a picture of baby Sander cradled in his sister’s loving arms, I see images of him playing carefree and happy, accompanied by his sister and a second girl I swear could be a young Amber. There are scenes of family dinners, family disasters, wins on the football field, bad grades, violent outbursts. The image of his father never takes true form, always just a dark cumulous, the photographs interspersed with the sketches have his face burnt out with a lighter. 

I am impressed with how closely Sander’s drawings match the few photographs that are present. His accuracy in depicting himself as a child is astounding. As we move along the wall, Sander becomes older, the scenes become more lonely. His sister becomes more distant, and his mother falls into a deep depression. The outbursts of violence become more frequent and cuts and bruises become more prevalent on all three of them. His sister fades from view entirely, leaving Sander with a literal hole in his chest. His mother falls ill and never leaves the hospital again. Her headstone is placed on a large page with a wide space around it. There are two orbits around the tombstone, one path for Sander and one for his Father, they are separated, Sander is alone but safe for now. 

Light begins to renter Sander’s life when Britt arrives. They have long conversations, share secrets, and make a pact. The vision of Sander’s father becomes slightly more solid, slightly more inviting. 

An eruption occurs surrounding the photograph Sander took of me the first night he saw me at the graffiti party. The images after are more familiar to me. Sander asking for the manager in the doorway of the beach house kitchen. Us spinning around the grocery store. Making croques in an unfamiliar kitchen, teaming up during the paintball battle. There is uncertainty when Sander draws himself, there is envy in his eyes as he looks across the beach at Noor and I kissing. Hope peeks through at the Halloween party as we kiss our partners, but have eyes only for each other. Sparks ignite outside by the recycling bins where we almost kissed. 

The pencil versions of us sit at a bar, drink from small liquor cans, and ride our bikes down a long tunnel. We hold our breath under water, our eyes open, seeing each other for the first time. 

A large, vibrant oil painting disrupts the flow of pencil drawings and photographs. It is our first kiss, looking up through the water, our faces becoming one. 

The drawings crash into darkness once more after the day I left him confused on my doorstep. I was scared and Sander believed every horrible word that I uttered. 

My breath catches when I reach this point, Sander holds me tighter whispering in my ear “We found eachother in the end.” 

“In every universe,” I say in agreement, but also as a promise. 

Pencil Sander dips into loneliness again, obsessing over his art, his thoughts racing too much to sleep. Not for long, I cut through his vortex and we make up outside of his school. Our art selves kiss in my bed, have a pillow fight, we are both elated...until that night after leaving the bar. We get beaten within an inch of our lives, left curled up on the cold pavement. Sander begins spiraling again, the fear of his father taking hold again. He retreats to the safety of the agreement made with Britt. They kiss in the club, and I see myself in the background. Sander is torn, but he thinks he has gotten away with it, he pushes down the signs of me ignoring him. There are knots tying in his stomach until they tighten with full force after seeing me in the cafe. A determined Sander begins working on the mural of me under the cover of darkness. There is a picture of the finished mural included in the wave of Sander’s life, one of the few sparks of color. 

The illustrated version of us find eachother again, we fall off of the bed our first time. Sander promises himself to me the next morning as well. A giddy Sander returns to his father’s house and is met with fury over his sketchbook. Every blow inflicted by his father is depicted in pencil and paper. 

He finds sanctuary among the outcasts at Casa de Milan, Zoenne, and Sobbe, all of us are smiling around a much too small dining room table. The rest of our story unfolds, Sander slowly becoming more certain in the safety found in my arms. His love for me clear in every page, I blush as I see us at the cabin, by the creek, playing games...in the shower. Sander becomes more bold with his declarations of love, illustrating his manic ideas of our wedding. The flow of the wave reaches a peak and Sander is balanced precariously at the apex, my outstretched hand the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the demons waiting in the pit below. The last image along the path outlined by the metal bars are our hands, fingers intertwined, the chains of our necklaces winding through our fingers as well, the pendents hidden in the space between our palms. 

The final wall of the exhibit is dedicated to a single canvas. It is a life size collage of Sander, his self portrait. He is standing with his feet shoulder width apart, his palms facing forward, like they made him do at the hospital while collecting evidence. The jeans he is wearing in the image are ripped and bloody. The black and blue paint of Sander’s bare bruised chest is interrupted by x-ray film where his bones have been broken. His wrist is shrouded in black casting material. My eyes are drawn to Sander’s painted eye, it is the one that isn’t swollen shut, reflected in the iris is a shadow of a man with his hand raised in anger. Sander’s face looks strong and unbending in the painting, underneath all of the swelling and bruising. I look over at the placard, it reads ‘My normal, no longer.’ 

I turn around and wrap my arms around Sander’s shoulders. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. 

“I love you with every ounce of my being. This is unlike anything I have ever seen before,” I begin, looking deep into his eyes. “I feel so privileged to be on this journey with you, and to get these glimpses into your mind. You are so incredibly talented and this...your work...it is going to be so important to so many people.” 

Sander is made speechless, I kiss him gently, wiping the tears of relief off of his face with my thumbs. He slowly begins to collect himself and I ask, “Now are you ready to let everyone else in?” 

“I don’t think I will ever be fully ready,” Sander begins. “But fuck it!” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People funnel through the exhibit in small groups at first, until the entire space is buzzing with life. Sander is met with overwhelming responses from friends, classmates, and strangers. There are tears and laughter, sorrow and excitement, heartbreak and love. I can see that everyone who has taken a walk through his mind is leaving changed, having been touched by his story. It is amazing to see him in his element, talking about his art, and his process. The attention is still making him uncomfortable, but with every conversation, handshake, and thankful hug he becomes more and more comfortable in this space. 

I walk through the exhibit a few more times, picking up new details each time. I find Jens standing in front of the timeline of sketches. He is staring intently at the sketches from the night Sander and I were assaulted. 

“Hey,” I say softly, standing next to him. He turns towards me, tears in his eyes. 

He pulls me into a tight, desperate hug. “Robbe, I am so sorry. I had no idea.” 

“It’s okay,” I deflect. 

“No it’s not,” Jens insists, pulling away from me, staring deeply into my eyes his hands still on my shoulders. “It kills me that you guys went through this. It kills me that I wasn’t there to protect you, to help you after.” 

“But you did help me,” I begin. “I may not have told you the whole story about that night, but when I came out to you, you helped me so so much. You showed me what it felt like to be accepted, you showed me that the people that I love wouldn’t leave me. I was so afraid to tell people, I was afraid of how people would react. But you reacted perfectly, and you have supported me perfectly ever since.” 

“I’m sorry that there was ever any doubt in your mind,” Jens implores. “You are my brother, Robbe, and nothing will ever change that.” 

“I know that, and thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do...now...to help?” Jens asks. 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I sigh. “But I will let you know if there is. Same goes for you, you know. If you ever need anything, I’ve got your back.” 

We hug again, shorter this time. We talk for a while, glowing over Sander’s art and talking about our whole love story, the good and the bad. After a while more of our friends join the conversation and I slip away to find Sander. 

I reach Sander at the same time as another glassy eyed visitor. “Amazing work Sander. It is truly magnificent,” the man says, tears threatening to escape his eyes. He looks to be older than Sander by a few years. He is tall, lean and has black curly hair. 

“Thank you,” Sander begins, his breath hitching in his chest as he makes eye contact with the man. “Cassie?”

“Well I go by Carson now,” he begins. “But yeah, it's me. I missed you so much, Sandemander.”

“But. You. How?” Sander stutters in shock. 

“I am so sorry, for everything, I can’t even begin...” Carson stutters back. “Did you get any of my letters?”

“No. Dad,” Sander breaths, barely audible. 

“Figures,” Carson looks like he is about to pass out from nerves. “Sander, I am so proud of you. God, I missed you so much.” 

Carson takes one small step towards Sander, barely noticeable, but Sander steps back immediately. There is an unmistakable look of hurt on his face. “I’m sorry. I can’t, not right now okay?” Sander says, walking away fast. 

Carson lets Sander go, the tears coming down now. He turns away from me, unable to look at the door Sander disappeared through. 

“Carson?” I say, taking a step towards him. “Here.” I hand my phone to him.

“What?” he asks confused, his voice sounds deep and husky like Sander’s. 

“Put your number in,” I direct impatiently. My body is screaming for me to run after Sander. “I’ll have him call you, if or when he is ready.” 

Hope fills his emerald eyes as he types in his contact information into my phone. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, handing the phone back to me. We look into each other's eyes, and I can see absolute heartbreak in his eyes, they are the same eyes I have spent hours looking into. I have seen that hurt before, replicated exactly in the deep soulful eyes that are unmistakably Sander’s. 

“Okay, I’ve gotta go,” I say as a weak goodbye. I walk quickly, practically jogging in the direction Sander slipped away to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is a long chapter, but I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoyed it. As always I love reading your comments, it's nice to know if people are still reading. 
> 
> I can see all of Sander's art so vividly in my mind, but alas I am a terrible artist. If you were at all inspired by my descriptions please feel free to do some doodles. I would absolutely love to see anything that you create. My tumblr @needalittlelove 
> 
> Happy New Year Clowns!!! <3


	15. Friday 20:03

Robbe found Sander on the sidewalk just outside of the art gallery. Sander is pacing back and forward, breathing heavily, fighting off frustrated tears. Upon seeing Robbe emerge from the gallery Sander’s labored breaths are interrupted by one long sigh of relief from the mere sight of Robbe. 

“I’m slipping,” Sander agonizes, utilizing their code word for when things start becoming too much for him. 

“Okay, let’s go home,” Robbe says, placing his hand protectively between Sander’s shoulder blades. 

On the train, both boys recite in their heads the detailed plan determined by Sander and Dr. V for when Sander feels this way. First step, get Sander to a safe place: the apartment, or Sander’s studio space at school. Second step: listen to Sander and try to alleviate any controllable worries that he has. Sander felt bad about leaving their friends without an explanation or a goodbye, Robbe texts Milan from the train telling him that they had to leave early and are headed back to the apartment because Sander was feeling overwhelmed. 

Soon the first step is complete as both boys walk thankfully through the door of their bedroom. Sander’s breathing hasn’t once calmed since seeing his brother. His skin feels hot, waves of heat originating in his chest are trying to rip their way out. Sander resumes his pacing in front of the window. Robbe cracks open the window, letting some fresh cool air into the room. The heat is still too much for Sander, he takes off his leather jacket, and soon fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. Once his arms are free, his hands begin ripping at his hair. Sander’s whole body feels like it’s burning, but everything feels numb to him. He craves any sensation besides the burning, even if that sensation is pain. 

Robbe’s voice breaks through the growing cumulous in Sander’s mind, “Remember. Stream of consciousness. Just start letting some of those thoughts out.” 

This is the next step in their plan, Sander knows somewhere deep down that this will help him feel better in the end. But the idea of talking turns his stomach. He knows that if he tries to put even two words together, they won’t fit right. None of his words will fit, and Robbe will be left with an impossible jigsaw puzzle to solve. 

“Even if none of it makes sense, just start saying something,” Robbe’s soft voice says, reading Sander perfectly. 

“Was I imagining that?” Sander begins, his voice a little higher than normal. “Did that actually happen, was that my...was that...him…?”

“Yes, that really happened. Carson, your brother now I guess, he was there,” Robbe answers. 

“But that doesn’t make...why would he come...after so much time...why tonight?” Sander asks, kicking a pillow out of his pacing path. “How did he know?”

“I don’t know,” Robbe sighs. “Maybe he has been keeping up with you, even if you didn’t know it.” 

“You think so?” Sander asks. “But why wouldn’t he say something to me, how could he leave me there?” 

The memories of being left by his sibling makes Sander’s breath hasen again. He slumps onto the floor, giving up on pacing. From his new position on the floor Sander can see the old shoe box supposedly full of letters from Carson. Sander reaches out with his foot, kicking the box out from under the bed. 

“Do you want me to read them to you?” Robbe asks. Sander nods quietly, silent tears running down his face. 

Robbe settles onto the floor next to the shoebox, giving Sander some space. Robbe opens the box carefully, Sander can’t see anything inside over the flap but he sees a strange look on Robbe’s face. 

“What is it? Is it empty?” Sander asks. 

“No, there’s a ton of letters in here. It’s just…” Robbe responds, trying to brush something to the side keeping it from Sander. 

“What is it, don’t try to protect me,” Sander’s voice rises, leaning forward to grab the sticky note in Robbe’s hand. 

It is a hastily written note in his Dad’s handwriting:  _ You freaks deserve each other! _

“He knew,” Sander screams in pain, balling up the note and throwing it across the room. 

“I’m sorry, Sander.”

“Just read,” Sander groans. “Please.” 

Sander and Robbe sit on the floor all night long reading and re-reading the letters from Carson. With every word, the puzzle in Sander’s mind starts to take shape, he works towards memorizing every word that Carson wrote. He memorized the words, terrified that in the next reading the words will change or lose their meaning. 

Carson’s Letters -----------Trigger Warning Reference to self harm -------------------------------------

_ Sander,  _

_ No words in the world, in any language, can express how sorry I am. Leaving you was the last thing that I ever wanted to do, but please understand it is what I needed to do. You are my entire world, since the day you were born you have been the only sunlight in my life. I love you so much, Sander, and I always want to keep you safe. The thing is, man this is hard, I have been living a different life. At least in my mind, I have been living the life that I have always wanted. This life I want with everything that I have, I crave this life more and more every day. What started as a distant fantasy has become something that I need in the real world. I need it, it hurts me to not have it. I have been hurting myself because I don’t have it. I know with every part of my soul that, on the inside, I am a man. I think I have always felt this way, I have since learned the words for the way I have been feeling. I am transgender.  _

_ My plan has always been to leave with you, and mom if she would come. We would escape together and live a life without dad. Mom and I have been saving up money for years, keeping it secret, keeping it safe from dad. I thought that we were ready, but mom refused to come, she refused to let me take you. She found me cutting myself yesterday, she knows now. She knows about everything, about who I am, who I want to be. She begged me to leave, before dad found out, she told me that he would kill me if he found out. I think she is right.  _

_ She has promised me that you two will follow, soon. Soon we'll be together again, I am getting everything ready for you guys. I will find a place for us to live, a place of our own. I will find a school for you to go to, I will make a life for us. Please know that it broke my heart to leave you Please tell me that you will be okay. Please tell me that you will help mom find her bravery. Please come find me, when you are ready.  _

_ All of my love - Cas _

Every birthday, every holiday, every month there are letters. Some have cash in them, some have little presents, some have pictures in them. Sander asks Robbe to read each letter at least twice, trying to memorize his brother’s words. One letter tells of how Carson tried to get custody of Sander after their mother died, but was turned down by every lawyer in town. Sander asked Robbe to read that one four times. Carson confesses how he still went to Sander’s soccer games, art shows, theater productions, and sees him leave school every day. Carson shares milestones in his life, paying the deposit on an apartment, his first testosterone injection, when he gets accepted into the pre-nursing program at the University of Antwerp, his first DJing gig, when he adopted a dog, when he gets his top surgery. Carson realizes that Sander likely isn’t getting these letters, however he hopes that one day Sander will understand why he had to leave. He hopes that one day Sander will understand and come find him. With every letter they read, Sander begins to understand and realizes that he desperately wants his brother back in his life. 

At some point Robbe was able to calm Sander down enough in order for them to fall asleep. They fell asleep with Robbe laying ontop of Sander in a comforting embrace, a human weighted blanket anchoring Sander’s mind and body in the soft blankets. 


	16. Saturday 8:03 (Sander’s POV) SMUT

(SMUT)

I wake up quickly, instantly alert as soon as my eyes open. Sometime during the night I flipped over onto my stomach, Robbe is still half on top of me, our faces only centimeters from each other. I reach out with my lips kissing him gently awake. 

“Good morning, baby,” Robbe sighs into our kiss, stroking my eyebrow. “How are you feeling?”

“My back is really sore,” I say, taking inventory of the pains in my body and my mind. “I think I’ll be stuck here for the rest of the day.” 

“Hmm, lucky me,” Robbe grins into our kiss. He separates himself from our pile of limbs. He moves to straddle my lower back, sitting on my butt. 

“What’s your plan?” I giggle into the pillow. 

“I’m gonna make your back feel better,” Robbe answers as if it's obvious. I hear him rubbing lotion between his hands and soon feel it on my skin. The lotion is cold, but Robbe’s hands are warm and firm. His hands trace all of my muscles using the perfect amount of pressure, he knows exactly where I hurt without me needing to tell him. I can’t help the thankful, blissful sounds I make when he finds a spot that I didn’t even realize was tender. As time goes on my muscles become more and more relaxed, but the sensation of Robbe’s body against mine keeps sparks igniting on my skin. I can feel the vibrations of Robbe’s laughs as he responds to my more enthusiastic groans. Robbe’s arms sneak under my chest and he hugs me from behind, his chest pressed against my back, his lips pressed up to my ear. 

He kisses my ear, “How are you feeling now?” 

“A million times better,” I respond. “Thank you baby.” 

Robbe kisses down my cheek, and leaves a ghost of a kiss on my lips, “I’d do anything to make you feel better.”

“I want to bottom for you,” I blurt. 

“What?” Robbe giggles, surprised by my enthusiasm and the quick change in subject. 

“Yeah,” I answer, reaching to squeeze his hands that are still under my chest. “I know I am an absolute noodle right now, and you will be doing pretty much all the work, but I want you to know what it feels like...and I…I also want to know what it feels like. I mean...as long as you want to.” I can feel my cheeks blushing, and I try to be brave talking about what I want. 

“I mean, we’ve never done...I’ve never done before,” Robbe studders. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I never did it before you either, and we figured it out right?” I sooth. “And I trust you, you would never hurt me.” 

“Are you sure?” Robbe asks, his voice tiny but excited. 

“1000%.” 

“And you’ll let me know the moment it hurts?” 

“If it hurts,” I correct. “But I promise.” 

“Okay.” Robbe says, determined. I feel his body rise off of me, which is upsetting, but I force myself to be patient. I hear Robbe rusling around for a bit and soon I feel his warm body back on top of me. “I really do love you,” he giggles into my ear. 

“Well thank god!” I tease. “I was beginning to think you kept me around just for my cooking.” 

“How could you ever say that?!” Robbe teases back. “It’s also because you clean.” 

“Wow thats all that I am, a regular old housewife. Under appreciated, reduced to reading trashy romance novels because my husband neglects me…”

“Yeah, he’s the worst,” Robbe groans in my ear. His hands trace down my sides and he begins sucking a hickey into the part of my neck that he knows makes me go wild. “I guess he should just show you how much you are loved.” 

“Yeah maybe he should,” my voice is already getting weak. 

Robbe takes his time, kissing down my back, running his hands under me along my chest. Usually I can’t stand it when he goes slow, my whole body aching to feel him, desperately wanting more. This morning though, I am the most relaxed I have ever felt, I am able the cherish every touch he gives me when he gives it to me. I want this feeling to last forever, so it doesn’t bother me if he takes all day. 

His kissing reaches the waistband of my boxers, I feel his narrow fingers tuck under the fabric as he slowly pulls them over my ass and slowly down my legs. I suddenly feel very exposed, I get butterflies in my stomach knowing how truly exposed I am, how I am completely at Robbe’s mercy. But it’s Robbe, absolutely everything he does is magic, all I have to do is trust. I close my eyes, resting my head on my arms, relaxing into whatever comes next. 

Robbe’s hands run up my legs and along my sides as he moves his body to be aligned with mine. I feel his naked body on mine, I feel his hardness against where I want him most, he rubs against me providing friction but not enough. 

“Do you trust me?” he whispers in my ear. 

“More than anything,” I moan, as he grinds his hips against me. I feel a hand come between us. Robbe starts lightly touching me around my entrance with a lubed finger. I can feel my muscles loosen and contract under his touch. His touch is light, teasing me, making me go crazy. 

Soon his tracing finger is replaced by his tongue. The sensation surprises me, but feels inexplicably good. His tongue is soft and warm and soon fills me ever so gently, moving in and out. I feel myself opening around his soft tongue, but I crave something harder to constrict around. Robbe’s thumbs brush the sides of my hole, opening me more for his tongue. Robbe pulls away and I feel his warm breath against me, his finger slipping gentilly inside of me. This feeling is closer to the stretch my body desires, my moans encourage Robbe to move his finger in and out of me, and soon I am open enough for two fingers. His body is in line with mine again, his voice whispering encouragements into my ear, his fingers working me closer to ecstasy. 

“I’m ready. Robbe please,” my breathy voice pleads for him. I need to feel him inside of me, I need to be filled with him, connected to him. 

I feel Robbe’s smile against my neck, my pleas making his breath catch in excitement. His hand leaves me for a moment, preparing himself. He aligns himself. Bending my right leg against his, making my hips separate from the bed slightly and come closer to him. I feel his dick against where I want him, but it isn’t enough, I need more, he is hesitating. “Remember what you promised,” he warns. 

“I promise. Just…oh my god!” my words cut off as he pushes inside of me. My brain goes blank, my body is overwhelmed by the new sensation. Thousands of nerves are caught between pleasure and pain and everything in between. Robbe isn’t moving, his first thrust making us hyperventilate, both overwhelmed by our bodies coming together. I fight to get my breathing under control, to get my body to relax around him, I fight to keep my orgasm at bay, to last for him. I relax around him and this gives him permission to explore me further. 

“Holy shit!” Robbe groans into my neck. “You feel so good.” 

“Don’t you dare stop,” I plead, rolling my hips into his. I want to feel him in every corner of my being, every nerve aches to feel him. Our hips roll together, slowly, quickly, in every pattern. I reach behind us and grab Robbe’s ass, pushing him hard against me. He hits something new inside of me and I cry out in pleasure. “There, right there.” 

I bite down onto my hand, trying to keep myself from screaming again. Robbe thrusts hard and deep, seeking that spot again and finding it every time. My body begins to shake and I know that I am close. Three more thrusts and I am screaming into my pillow, my muscles crashing in around Robbe. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans into my shoulder, collapsing ontop of me. His body convulses against me, I feel his warmth releasing deep inside of me. Everything feels sensitive and my brain is hazy. I roll out from under him, reaching out with my arm hooking it around his shoulders and pulling him into a kiss. I kiss his lazy lips hungrily, never getting enough. He giggles underneath me, riding out the adrenalin high we both just reached. 

“How do you have any energy left?” Robbe giggles into my mouth. I begin to smile against his lips, “What are you smiling about.” 

“I’m just thinking,” my smile broadens. 

“About what?” Robbe smiles as well, looping a strand of my hair around his finger. 

“About how you are my first and only,” I say, making eye contact. “For everything.” 

“First and only,” Robbe hums. “I like the sound of that.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robbe and I shower together. I don’t know if he is still tired or if I am just being paranoid, but I feel as though he isn’t as in to our making out as I am. I kiss him lightly on both cheeks, and whisper that I love him before I step out. He stays a little longer in the shower and I sneak back into our room to get dressed.  
“You going somewhere?” he asks casually after walking back into the room. 

“Yeah, I want to go for a run,” I say realizing as I say it that I am changing into my running clothes. 

“You should ask Senne to go with you,” Robbe suggests. 

“What, do I need a babysitter?” I joke.

“No,” something in Robbe’s face twitches defensively. “He’s been whining about putting on Christmas weight and not having a jogging buddy since Max is away for the holidays. I think it would make him happy if you asked.”

“Okay,” I say jumping up after tying my shoe. “Anything for Senne!” 

Robbe dresses quickly and we walk into the kitchen together. Everyone exchanges sleepy good mornings that I don’t really respond to. 

“Hey Senne,” I chime in, almost interrupting Milan. “Do you wanna go on a run with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, after a nearly invisible glance at Robbe. “Just give me a sec to get dressed.” 

My mind is moving a mile a minute as I wait in the kitchen for Senne to get ready. Milan, Zoe, and Robbe are gushing about the exhibit last night. Every once in a while they try to bring me into the conversation, but all I give are short sentence answers. My body needs to move, my mind is planning ahead for where I want to go. 

Senne emerges back into the kitchen, decked out in running clothes. “You ready?” I ask.

“Yeah, we could do my normal route, it’s about 2 miles, or you could lead the way,” he suggests. 

“Uh, I’ll surprise you,” I declare. I have absolutely no plan of where to go, but all I know is that I want to be able to run in any and all directions I want, uninhibited. 

“Here,” Robbe says, holding out a water bottle to me with a smile. “Do you want another jacket? It’s pretty cold out there.” 

I look down at what I am wearing, running tights with baggy shorts over them and a hoodie. I feel really hot right now and the thought of putting any more clothes on makes me feel claustrophobic. “Nope I’m good,” I say shortly. 

As I turn around I see Milan and Robbe look at eachother, and Robbe shrugs his shoulders. I am getting tired of all these secret conversations. I just need to run. I skip through the door and down the hallway, Senne following me happily. I think briefly about waiting for the elevator and decide that it will take too long. I challenge myself to see how quickly I can go down the stairs without skipping any of them. It reminds me of the footwork drills I used to do for football. 

“Ah, it’s a beautiful day,” I declare as I emerge through the front door into the frosty air. 

“I guess you could say that,” Senne says sarcastically, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “Let’s get going before we freeze!” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, starting out at top speed. 

I feel weirdly light, like gravity decided to give me a break today to allow me to run faster. Like the universe knew that I would have a need for speed. I don’t care what Senne says, it is a beautiful day, I guess you could call it cold and grey, but it is the perfect day for a run. The streets are alive with cars, but the sidewalks are completely free of people, we have the whole path to ourselves, no one to slow us down, no one to dodge at the last minute.

Senne keeps up at first, but as the blocks tick by, he first has to stick some fingers into his side, then he starts losing strides on me, until he only catches me when I get stopped at the stop lights. 

“You ever heard of a warm up?” he says, through gasps. “Or you know, pacing?” 

“Oh sorry,” I say. “I don’t know why but I just have so much energy today.” 

“No kidding,” Senne laughs. 

“Here is this better?” I ask slowing my pace down a little after the light turns green. 

“Yeah, this is more like it,” Senne puts on a brave face. “So where are we going?”

“Scheldestraat street,” I answer, it takes a minute for my brain to catch up with why that street is calling to me. I memorized it from the letters Carson sent me. 

“But Sander,” Senne reasons. “That’s all the way across town.” 

“Feel free to turn around,” I offer. “I need to go there.”

“If it’s about the destination, then let’s get on the tram, or go back and I can drive you there,” he is barely able to say this through his laboured breathing. “You don’t want to push it too hard your first day, right?” 

“Don’t you get it?” I ask, facing him. “I’m not at all tired! I can go all day!” 

“Sander! Watch out!” Senne yells, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him. Realization hits me like the tram almost did. I must have lost track of where my feet were taking me, looking away at Senne. Did I really almost get hit by a tram? How didn’t I hear it? 

“What the fuck!” I say, bending over at the hips catching my breath. My hands are tugging at my hair, I feel like such an idiot. 

“Here Sander,” Senne soothes. “Just breath, it’s okay.” 

“What do you mean okay?” I gasp for air. “I almost got flattened like a pancake.” 

The cold is finally catching up to me and my body begins shaking as intense waves of shivers take hold of me. 

“Here, let’s go warm up in here. Jesus, I don’t even know where we are anymore,” Senne leads me into the Cafe that is right next to us. It is thankfully very empty, almost impossible for a Saturday morning. Senne leads me to a booth that is closest to the fireplace, honestly could this place get any better? 

I feel like I only blinked before Senne returns with two big mugs and a bag of pastries. “Drink up,” he commands. 

I pray that he didn’t get me coffee, if I drank coffee right now I am afraid that my already racing heart with fail entirely. “What is it?” I ask. 

“Tea.” 

We sit in silence until my muffin is gone and my tea is half way down. It isn’t an awkward silence, I can tell he has a lot of thoughts to work out alone as well. At least I hope he does, because I do, and it would be really awkward if he didn’t and was just sitting there wondering what I am thinking. Then he would be wondering what I was thinking about, when really I am just wondering about what he is thinking about, and that would be entirely unproductive. 

“Feeling any better?” he asks. 

I sigh, and shrug. My body does feel a little bit more calm, my heart is no longer racing. But my mind hasn’t quieted one bit. 

“So what is on Scheldestraat street?” Senne tries again to get me to talk. 

“My brother’s house,” it surprises me how easy it is to talk to Senne. 

“Wait,” Senne frowns. “You have a brother? I thought you only had a sister.” 

Right, Sander… you're not the center of the universe, your latest drama isn’t broadcasted on every news channel. “I thought so too. I thought my sister wanted nothing to do with me, I thought she was better off without me, but then it turns out that she, I guess he had his own shit to deal with. He’s trans, and obviously it wasn’t particularly safe for him to stick around,” I trail off and stare into my tea. 

“Woah, that's a lot to take in,” Senne empathizes. “Was this all in the letters, did you read them?”

“Yeah, but he also showed up last night, at the art show,” I try to shake the hurt look on Carson face from last night out of my mind. 

“Really?” Senne’s is surprised. “Is that why you left early?”

“Yeah, it was a bit overwhelming.” 

“I bet,” Senne sighs. “But you want to go see him?”

“I don’t know,” I groan. “I guess I do. But it feels weird.” 

“How so?” 

“I feel like I don’t even know him. Like when I saw him last night, it felt like I knew exactly who he was, but he looked like a complete stranger,” I try to explain. “But today, I miss him. And I want to spend time with him. Is that weird?” 

“Well, he’s still the person that you grew up with, and the person who took care of you,” Senne reaches out and grabs my hand. “He isn’t a stranger and I think it is totally normal for you to want to see him.” 

Senne’s phone chimes and he quickly picks it up off of the table before I see the notification. “Shit what time is it?!” I panic, we must have been gone for hours by now. 

“It’s almost 12,” Senne answers calmly. 

“I don’t have my phone,” I realize, patting down my pockets. “Can you text Robbe?” 

“Already am,” Senne admits guiltily showing me his screen. There are a few messages back and forward starting probably around when we arrived at the cafe. 

“Ugh, I’m so embarrassed,” I groan into my hands. “You probably think I am a basket case.” 

“Sander, look at me, hey,” Senne sooths. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about! I think turning into Captain America overnight as a coping mechanism is actually kind of badass.” 

“Captain America, huh?” I smile. “It really wasn’t that fast, was it?” 

“My watch says that we were averaging 8 minute miles. I swear, if I didn’t know any better I would say that you’d been training for that,” Senne teases. 

“But you do know better,” I laugh. “You know that I am a serial couch potato.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Senne laughs. “Come on, if we want to be able to get out of bed tomorrow, I think we should walk it off.” 

“Okay, old man,” I stand up and can already feel the lactic acid pooling in my legs. “What do you say? Should we become running buddies now?” 

“Absolutely,” Senne says, standing up sorely. “But only if we stick to the treadmill.” 

“Deal.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey baby,” Robbe says, sinking into the couch next to me. After wandering back to the apartment and taking a shower, I have been stationed here, sketching and trying to clear my mind. 

“Hey,” I lean into him. “Did Senne tell you what happened?” 

“A little bit,” Robbe admits. “But I wanted to hear it from you.” 

“Well I was definitely manic.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I wanted to run all the way to Carson’s house.”

“Really? What did you want to do when you got there?” 

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just wanted to talk to him I guess. Spend time with him, just see what he is like.” 

“Do you still want that?” 

“Yes,” I am sure of it. 

“I may have Carson’s phone number, if you are interested,” Robbe says into my hair, kissing the top of my head. 

“Really? How?”

“I asked for it, after we saw him at the art gallery,” Robbe explains. “I thought it would be good to have it, in case you ever wanted to reach out.” 

“I love you,” I kiss his hands. 

“I love you too,” he whispers, holding me impossibly tighter. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, intertwining our fingers. 

“I was really worried about you,” Robbe sighs. 

“Senne took good care of me,” I try to reassure him. 

“What about the tram?” his voice is barely audible. 

“That scared me too,” it keeps hitting me how close I was to something really terrible happening. “I just felt so invincible, you know? And I was running so fast, and I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going. Senne and I already talked about it, and if I feel the need to let off energy like that again, I will do it in the gym from now on, with someone there. I promise.” 

“Okay,” Robbe agrees, sinking deeper into me. “Do you want to try calling Carson tonight?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “I really do. Will you stay with me?”

“Always.” 

Robbe texts me the contact and I eagerly press the call button next to Carson’s name. It rings only three times before I hear Carson’s voice on the other end. 

“Hello?” He asks hopefully. 

“Hey Carson, it’s me.”

“Sander?”

“Yeah, how’s it been?” 

We talk on the phone for hours about everything and nothing. It is easy, it is carefree, like no time has passed. We make plans to meet up for brunch the next day, and I go to sleep excited to meet my brother properly this time.


	17. Sunday 9:23 (Robbe’s POV)

I wake up before Sander, a nightmare waking me but it is instantly forgotten as soon as my eyes open to take in the morning light. With my heart racing I know I won’t find sleep again, even next to Sander’s calm breathing and cosy embrace. I slowly untangle myself from Sander’s long arms, knowing that he needs the sleep after his restless night.

“Good morning,” Milan says brightly after I trudge into the kitchen. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” I chuckle, pulling two mugs out of the cabinet. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Making love all night?” Milan sings. 

“Well...not all night,” I wink, it was true after all. “But Sander couldn’t sleep, he was sketching almost all night.” 

“Is he still in a manic episode?” Milan asks, knowingly. 

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think it is more of a mixed episode. Sometimes he will be on cloud nine, but then his thoughts will turn really dark, and then turn back almost as quickly.” 

“Hmm,” Milan hums reassuringly, even though he doesn’t know exactly what to say. “Is he sleeping now?” 

I nod, returning my attention to making coffee. Milan is able to read me so well, he soon asks, “Is there something else going on?”

“Maybe,” I begin, staring at the coffee coming from the machine. “I don’t know, I’m probably overthinking it.” 

“Well luckily for you, that’s what your guru is for,” Milan smiles, poking his finger into his chest proudly. I would never admit it or say it out loud, but I love the idea of Milan being my life guru. “The guru station is open for business, I’m all ears.” 

“Okay...well...god! I have such a hard time talking about this stuff,” I blush. 

“This is a judgement free space,” Milan declares. “You can talk to me about anything.” 

I stare at him for a few seconds, my brain calculating the sincerity of what he is saying. My heart takes control and forces me to spit it out, “Sander, well when he is manic, he always wants to have sex.”

Milan thinks this over for a second, “Well you guys have sex when he isn’t manic too, right?” 

“Well yeah, of course, but…” 

“But what?” 

“It’s just, I noticed this pattern, and ever since, I don’t know, it is making me think.”

“What pattern?” Milan leads. 

“Well, I know that he loves me all the time, and he shows me that he loves me all the time in a million different ways,” I ramble. “But when he’s high, it's like he can’t get enough. Like he could go all night and his pain tolerance is through the roof. And I feel like, I’m sorry if this is too much information, but I feel like when he is like this he wouldn’t tell me if things started to hurt, I don’t know if he would even register if it was hurting.” 

“Have you ever felt pressured to do something that you didn't want to do?” Milan asks.

“No of course not,” I defend.

“Then what is the problem?”

“I never want to invalidate his feelings or his desires, no matter what state his mind is in, but...” I breathe deeply. “I can’t help but feel like I am taking advantage of him. When he is like this I can tell that he doesn’t have 100% control over his mind and I would absolutely hate it if he woke up with regrets in the morning. What am I supposed to do?” 

“It’s simple,” Milan soothes. “You need to talk to him about it, not in the heat of the moment, just a time when you can both sit down and talk about what is going on.” 

“You think so?” I ask. 

“Absolutely,” Milan exclaims. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After my talk with Milan I walk carefully down the hallway balancing two cups in one hand as I creek the door open. Sander is sitting up in bed thumbing through his sketchbook from last night, looking over his work with fresh eyes that were brought with the morning. 

“Coffee in bed?” Sander asks beaming up at me as I hand a mug to him carefully. “How did I get so lucky?” 

I sit down on the other side of the bed from him, keeping some space between us. We stare at each other over the rims of our mugs, he grins at me and I grin back. He must have sensed my uncertainty, “Hey what’s up?” 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say, forcing myself to be brave. 

“Shoot,” Sander says with a forced casual tone, I can tell that he’s nervous. “Hey baby, whatever it is, just say it.” 

“Can we talk about consent...when you’re manic?” as soon as I ask it my heart drops in time with Sander’s, hurt ravages his face.

“Yours or mine?” he whispers. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“Yours, yours. Baby, you did nothing wrong. I just want to make sure that I am doing right by you,” I say emphatically, reaching out to put my hand on his knee. 

“And you are, you are doing everything right,” Sander’s eyes stare deep into my soul. “I have never regretted a single second that I have spent with you. And you are so good at reading me, reading what I need no matter how I am feeling. It is actually quite remarkable.” 

“Really?”

“Yes really,” Sander smiles, he continues after he realizes that I’m still not entirely convinced. “It’s hard to describe, but sometimes I feel like all of my emotions, the good and the bad are cranked up to 100. It feels amazing when it is the good feelings that are cranked up, but the awful ones are lurking just around the corner. I know that it seems like when I am manic I don’t have all of my decision making faculties, and that is true. But when I am manic and choose to be with you, I feel like I get some control back.” 

“How so?” 

“I get some control back, because I get to choose to follow the good feelings. And let me tell you it feels like the only logical decision, because it is. It is terrifying sometimes, but my love for you is the single most consistent feeling that I have,” Sander intertwines our fingers. 

“You’ll tell me if I ever get it wrong? If I ever misread what you need?” I insist. 

“It hasn’t happened yet, but yes, I promise,” Sander kisses my hand. “And you will too? No matter what state my mind is in your needs are just as valid, you say no absolutely whenever you need, no questions asked.” 

“Promise,” I smile, climbing towards him. “I might not have as much energy as you, but I’m up for just about anything.” 

“Is that right?” Sander giggles as my lips brush his neck. “I hope you are up for brunch.” 

“I get to come?” I ask hopefully. 

“Duh, I want my brother to meet the love of my life,” Sander says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “We are okay right?” 

“Always.”


	18. Sunday 10:35 (Carson’s POV)

Most people think that when an anxious person bounces their knee they do so subconsciously. That isn’t true for me, I am aware that my knee is bouncing yet I can’t bring myself to make it stop. I have so much energy and my heart is racing, bouncing my knee and fiddling with the paper napkin is at least keeping my body occupied as my mind races. 

I’ve been in this booth for about an hour now, I wanted to get here early to make sure that we got a table. I was able to do homework at first, but now my Pathology assignment has been abandoned and shoved back into my bag. This weekend has proved to be a whirlwind. 

On Thursday night I read about the showcase for the art school in an email forwarded to me from my friend Val who attends the art school a few years above Sander. I knew, obviously, that Sander would be there, but I intended to keep my distance as I always do. Nothing could have prepared me for that night. Seeing Sander so happy, his boyfriend by his side and the large group of friends that surrounded them, made my heart ache with gratefulness. Ever since he was a little boy I always got the sense that he held back a part of himself around others, fearing rejection and heartbreak, but now he finally looks free to be exactly who he is. It is no surprise to me that in doing this, he found love in return. 

When they announced his name for the featured artist, pride nearly swallowed me whole. Despite everything in Sander’s life that tried to drag him down he resolved to live and to do so remarkably. Walking through his exhibit was emotional, exhilarating, and goosebump inducing. Through his art, Sander found strength and forgiveness in situations that others would only find hate and anger. I still don’t know what made me do it, but after walking through the exhibit I broke my only rule, I went up to Sander and spoke to him. I’ll be perfectly honest, I don’t actually remember anything that I said, all I know is that it would never be enough. Nothing I do could ever be enough to make up for the years of abandon that I inflicted on the person who deserves everything and more. I also can’t remember if he said anything, all I remember is the shocked look on his face and the sinking feeling as he ran away. I remember numbly typing in my phone number into Robbe’s phone, but never in a million years would I have expected anything to come from it. But something did. 

A significant part of me still believes that it was all a dream. That healing phone call could only have been a figment of my imagination. But deep down I know it had to have happened, I simply am not creative enough to have made it up anyway. Every minute that ticks by convinces me further that Sander won't show up. He will change his mind about me and realize that his life is better without me in it. That's what I deserve, I wouldn't blame him if he never forgave me, I’ll never forgive myself for leaving. 

I am wrong again, for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days. At exactly 11am the bell at the front door chimes and in walks Sander and his boyfriend Robbe. They hold hands comfortably and have easy smiles on their faces as they scan the restaurant. When Sander’s eyes brush over me I raise my hand and awkwardly stand halfway up, my legs getting trapped under the booth table. I am encouraged to stand all the way up as Sander walks towards me with his arms wide open, inviting me into a hug. I hug my brother for the first time in years, he has grown so much but I am still slightly taller than him. He hugs me tightly for exactly the right amount of time and my worries dissipate almost immediately. Sander has always had that ability to calm my anxiety, he does so just by existing, just by sheer natural empathy, he does so without even realizing. Robbe hugs me as well before sliding into the booth next to Sander. They sit close together, holding hands under the table and my heart soars for my little brother. 

“You won't believe what happened on our walk over here,” Sander exclaims, leaving no room for clunky, awkward greetings. 

“It was truly the weirdest thing I have ever seen,” Robbe agrees. 

“Well what was it?” I ask, grinning like an idiot. 

“There were about twenty of them,” Sander begins. “A whole bunch of guys, I think they were about college age.” 

“They were all dressed up in those felt banana costumes,” Robbe adds in. 

“And they were zooming around on roller skates,” Sander makes out through his laughter.

“They were pushing a shopping cart completely full of bananas,” Robbe adds. “There must have been about two hundred bananas in that thing.” 

“What the hell were they doing with all those bananas?” I ask, laughing too.

“Throwing them at people,” Sander snorts as he laughs. 

“Yup, you were right Robbe,” I agree. “That is really freaking weird.” 

“That's not even the worst part,” Sander wheezes. “We were walking and I had my back to the street, because I was looking at Robbe. As you do.”

“As you do,” I agree, Robbe blushes. 

“And a banana comes out of nowhere,” Robbe says, miming what happened next. “And hit Sander right in the face. Man the look on his face. I will never forget it. He looked so shocked.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sander defends. “It’s not everyday that bananas start falling from the sky.” 

“How would you feel Robbe, if I told you that that incident will likely be on youtube soon,” I laugh. 

“I would tell you that Sander getting hit with a banana will soon become my lock screen,” Robbe pokes Sander in the shoulder. 

“No!” Sander moans. 

“Yes,” I counter. “Those guys go to my school, they are a club I guess, they go to all of the sports games and they make youtube videos.” 

“Oh that is beautiful,” Robbe says in a sarcastically romantic voice. 

Our waiter comes over to take our order and I am surprised at how fast the boys are able to order. Apparently they come here often. I panic and order the same thing as Sander. 

“You’re still obsessed with croques I see,” I tease Sander. 

“Of course I am,” Sander scoffs. “It is only the best food in the world.” 

“When he was 5 that was the only thing he would eat, for months. Mom and I started trying to sneak vitamins and vegetables in with the cheese so he would get some other nutrients,” I laugh, the memory is bittersweet in my mind. At the time we were also struggling with money and that was the only thing we could afford to make for him. He never complained, about that or anything actually. 

“At least I am consistent in my brand,” Sander says, poofing out his chest. 

There is a comfortable silence for a few beats then Robbe asks, “So Carson, you’re in nursing school?” 

“Yeah,” I answer, a little uncomfortable talking about myself. “It's my second year, I want to become an ER nurse, so there is a lot of studying.” 

“That is so awesome!” Robbe’s eyes light up. “I’ve been thinking about going into pre-nursing at U-Antwerp after I graduate.” 

“That's great!” I smile. “I think you would be a really good nurse. That's where I went for pre-nursing so I’d be happy to give you some tips.” 

“I’d like that,” Robbe smiles kindly. He looks over to Sander who looks deep in thought. A soft nudge from Robbe brings him out of his thoughts and back into the conversation. 

“So Sander,” I begin. “Your exhibit the other night was absolutely magnificent. I am so proud of you.” 

“Thank you,” Sander blushes. “Everyone’s work was so good this year. I was really surprised when they chose my stuff.”

“You deserve it baby,” Robbe reassures. “You worked so hard on all of it and talent literally seeps out of you. Everyone can see it.” 

I guess that has stayed the same for Sander as well, his resistance to accepting compliments. I am thankful that he has Robbe to lift him up and to remind him that he is deserving of all the good stuff that comes in life. 

“So what are your classes like?” I ask, genuinely curious. 

“They are all amazing for different reasons,” Sander beams, his love for his school is evident. “I take the basic first year classes like art history, foundations of perspective, introduction to performance art, and another introduction class that has sculpture and photography and creative writing all mixed in. My favorite class though is my human figure class.” 

“Shit, I knew you liked those naked models too much,” Robbe teases. 

“Oh shut up boy, you know I only have eyes for you,” Sander smacks Robbe’s shoulder. I grin into my ice water, feeling like a third wheel. 

“So what do you actually like about it?” I ask.

“Well, the professor is super awesome. He does professional portraits as well as teaching. He just finished the Prime Minister’s portrait actually. He started his career doing caricatures of tourists in Paris and he slowly saved up enough money to go to art school. Now his style is hyper realistic and he is really knowledgeable about the science behind it all.” 

“Like all the muscle anatomy?” I ask. 

“Yes! Sometimes he acts like an anatomy professor. Most of the time it feels like a biology class, without the exams thank God!” Sander smiles. 

Our food arrives and we eat, our food growing cold as we continue to talk between bites. The conversation is light, easy, and full of laughter. I know that there is a mess of darker things that we need to talk about eventually, but my own selfishness hopes that we can push that stuff away for just a little while longer. Once he is done with his sandwich and fries Robbe excuses himself to go to the bathroom. 

Sander pushes around the remaining fries on his plate quietly, I can tell that he is thinking. I allow the silence to linger, allowing space for him to say whatever he needs to. He looks up and sighs, “Carson?” he asks. 

“Yeah?” I encourage. 

He stares at me with his soulful green eyes, everytime it looks like he is about to talk he stops, then tries again, and stops himself again. He gives up and asks, “Got any cute pictures of your dog?” 

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” I ask, both relieved and sad that Sander didn’t ask what he really wanted to. “Come here,” I say scooching over to give him room to sit next to me. 

Sander slides in and sits close to me, our legs touching as I pull up pictures on my phone. “What’s her name?” he asks. 

“Lola,” I answer. “She’s a German Shepard.”

“Oh my god!” Sander exclaims. “German Shepards are my favorite.” 

I would be lying if I said that that wasn’t the first thing I thought when I saw her at the humane society a year ago. “This is what she looks like now,” I say, showing him the most recent picture of her on our walk yesterday. “But, this is what she looked like when she was a puppy.” 

“She could almost fit in your hand,” Sander looks at the pictures absolutely enthralled in how cute she is. 

“You should come by and meet her sometime,” I offer. 

“Really?” Sander asks. “I would love that.” 

“You are welcome over anytime you want,” I say with every ounce of sincerity I can muster. 

“Thanks,” Sander says, looking down. “I was meaning to ask earlier. Would you maybe, I understand if you think it's too soon, or too awkward, or whatever. It's just all of our roommates are doing a thing and I would like you to come. It's... well... would you like to come over Christmas morning?” 

“Yes, absolutely, yes! If you want me there, I’m there,” I stutter, an embarrassingly large smile coming across my face. 

“I mean, yeah. I want you there,” Sander smiles shyly, still not looking me in the eyes. 

“Sander?” I ask softly, trying to get him to look at me. 

“Yeah?” he looks up. 

“You know I would do anything you ask, right?” I ask. Sander looks away again, and I know that he doesn’t quite believe me. “I know that I messed up, and that it will take a long time for you to trust me again, but I want to be a part of your life in whatever capacity that you want. I want you to be the one to choose though, I want you to take the lead. I want you to decide what role, if any I get to play in your life, and it's okay if you need time to decide.” 

“I don’t need time to decide, I want you in my life again. But…” Sander sighs, hiding his face in his hands. “I just don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

“It’s not fair that you were forced to take care of me for all those years,” Sander begins. “You were just a kid too, and you were forced to be my parent, and I just really don’t want to be your burden again.”

“You were never my burden,” I argue. 

“But I was,” Sander persists. “I can’t be the one to hold you back anymore. I was the one who kept you in that situation. Without me you would have left sooner, I was the one who kept you there even though it wasn’t safe.” 

“No, no, no. Nothing was ever your fault,” I sooth, rubbing Sander’s back, his breath hitches slightly as I do. “It was dad who made me feel trapped. He made us all believe that there was nothing else possible for us. It was my love for you that made me dream of something better. It was you who gave me hope, it was you who pushed me to fight for the life I wanted to live.. And you were never a burden to me, Sander. Watching you grow up and taking care of you has been the single greatest joy of my life. You have no idea all of the things you have given me over the years.” 

Sander can no longer help the tears that start coming out of his eyes, “Can I hug you?” he asks between his hitching breaths. I don’t answer, I only pull him close and hold him as tightly as I can. 

After a while our tears become laughs again, both of us feeling a little ridiculous for our very public breakdown. Sander starts wiggling his fingers into my side. “Don’t you dare,” I giggle. 

“Oh so you are still ticklish there!” he teases. “What are you going to do about it?” 

“You forget, young man, that I am still stronger than you,” I declare as I trap him in a headlock. “It looks like you put a lot of work into this hair style,” I tease as I mess it up roughly. 

“What did I miss?” Robbe asks, bringing his phone up to take a picture. 

“Mercy, mercy,” Sander laughs, and I let him go. “Just my brother kicking my ass as usual.” 

“You started it,” I laugh, bumping our shoulders together. 

Our waitress brings over the check and I insist on paying for breakfast. The boys admit that they need to get back home and I offer to drive them to extend our visit. We walk to my car, Sander jumping on Robbe’s back almost causing them to crash to the ground. Sander climbs into the passenger's seat and Robbe slides into the middle seat in the back, I am glad that I decided to anxiously clean my car yesterday. As soon as I turn on the car, my music starts up again and it is much too loud. 

I turn the volume dial almost all the way down. “No wait, that was really good!” Sander complains turning it up a little. “What is this?” 

“Just something that I mixed last night,” I admit, embarrassed. 

“No way!” Sander says, dancing in his seat to the music. “Do you have a show coming up?” 

“Yeah, the club I work at is having an event on Christmas night,” I brush off. 

“Can I come?” Sander asks, enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, if you want to,” I try to act cool. 

“If you play more stuff like this I would love to come!” Sander continues dancing. 

“This and better,” I boast sarcastically. 

Both boys take turns giving me directions to their flat. They argue jokingly about who is better at giving directions which results in them giving me instructions at the last minute for every single turn. It is chaotic and an absolute blast, they seem to be able to create fun even out of the simplest of tasks. 

“And just pull up there on the right,” Robbe directs the final instruction. I pull in and put the car in park. 

“Thank you again for breakfast,” Sander says, leaning over the center console to give me a hug.

“Yes thank you!” Robbe seconds from the back seat. 

“Any time,” I smile. “And it was really nice meeting you Robbe.” 

“You too,” Robbe blushes. 

“And we’ll see you for Christmas morning?” Sander asks tentatively. 

“Wouldn’t miss it!” I beam. 

“Great, I’ll text you the details and thanks again for the ride,” Sander nods, opening the door and climbing out onto the curb. 

Both boys wave from the curb as I pull out of the parking space. As I drive away I can see them in my rear view mirror chasing each other into the apartment building. As soon as I round the corner the cloud that I was floating on for the past two hours disappears and my heart feels heavy again. How I managed to live without him in my life for so long, I will never know. I have to remind myself that this time will be different, this isn’t goodbye forever, it’s just goodbye for now. 

Lola greets me at the door like I have been gone for months, and her enthusiasm only intensifies as I reach for her leash to take her for a walk. Just as I am placing my keys in the bowl by phone dings. It is an instagram notification, ‘@earthlingoddity has requested to follow you’ followed shortly by ‘@sterkerdanijzer has requested to follow you.’ 

It's a little unsettling how happy those notifications made me. ‘@earthlingoddity has tagged you in a post.’ 

It's a black and white picture of the two of us in the booth at breakfast, I have Sander in a headlock. There are smiles on our faces and our hair shows up as a beautiful contrast, mine black and his white. The caption reads: 

_ And these children that you spit on _

_ As they try to change their worlds _

_ Are immune to your consultations _

_ They're quite aware of what they're goin' through _


	19. Christmas Festivities (Sander’s POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Christmas Fluff to break up the quarantine drudgery. I hope you enjoy this lengthy chapter :)

The residents of apartment 24c are truly amazing. None of them ever batted an eye at my staying there for what has turned out to be a semi permanent arrangement. They have made me feel nothing but welcomed into their little family. I genuinely love every single one of them, and what is even more remarkable, they all seem to like me too. Robbe pretends that they annoy him, but I can tell that he is grateful that they are so welcoming of us. Still, I found it hard to talk to them about Carson coming over for Christmas. On Sunday we were all sitting down in the living room eating dinner together, the kitchen table much too small for the five of us, when I asked, “So you guys know about my brother Carson, right?”

“Yeah, how was brunch?” Milan asked excitedly.

“It was really really good, actually,” I smiled. 

“You should invite him over for Christmas!” Zoe suggested. 

“Yes! Yes! You should!” Milan clapped enthusiastically. 

“Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you guys about,” I beamed. “I kinda invited him already.”

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Senne said, patting my shoulder. 

“You know what this means?” Milan said turning to Zoe. “We need to go shopping again.” 

The rest of dinner was spent planning gifts for Carson, the group interrogating me about his likes and dislikes. I surprised myself with how easily I answered all of their questions, remembering everything from our childhood together, I hope most of it still applies. Once again their capacity to love was overwhelming and I felt absolutely blessed to be a part of this family. 

“You guys aren't ready for this,” Milan declared happily after dinner was over. 

“Yes, the 24c Christmas traditions are truly one of a kind!” Zoe agreed. 

“Uh, oh. I’m scared,” Robbe teased, squeezing my hand. 

“No need to fear kitten, it will be fun!” Milan reassured. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robbe and I wake up Christmas morning to the sounds of Milan’s Christmas playlist slowly increasing in volume. 

“Merry Christmas baby,” I smile into our kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” Robbe says softly. “You ready for some Christmas overload?” 

“Absolutely,” I laugh. “I’m ready to have some traditions with you.” 

“I’m excited to see what Milan and Zoe have been scheming,” Robbe admits. 

“Shall we go outside?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” Robbe sighs. “What time is Carson getting here?” 

“He’s already here!” Milan calls from the kitchen. 

“Are the walls really that thin?” I whisper genuinely mortified, my eyes wide in terror. 

“Uhh, don’t think about it,” Robbe says, pushing me up and out of the bed, following close behind me. 

“Good morning,” Milan, Zoe, and Carson greet us as we walk into the kitchen. 

“Good morning,” Robbe says groggily, I pull Carson into a tight hug. “I like the crown, it’s quite the statement.” 

“Oh this old thing?” he jokes. “I never go to a party without it.” 

“Is that how you make friends in college?” I tease back. “Who would have thought, maybe I should try that.”

“Enough chit chat, now where is Senne?!” Milan asks. 

“Keep your hair on, I’m here,” Senne grumbles, slumping towards the coffee pot. This is his signature morning routine, usually refusing to even say hello before he has a coffee in his hand. 

“Great, this is for you, and one for you, and here you go. Yes it is mandatory for all 24c Christmas virgins,” Milan declares, handing out sparkly plastic crowns to Robbe, Senne, and me. 

“Senne hold on a second, all the breakfast stuff has been set up in the living room,” Zoe scolds. 

We all file out of the kitchen and walk across the hall to the living room. I follow behind Carson, bringing up the rear of our excited group. I hear surprised noises from the people in front of me and am pleased to see that they were for good reason. When I enter the door to the living room I see that it has been transformed into a magnificent fort. The whole room is encapsulated within white sheets and strings of sparkling lights, blocking off the outside world. The Christmas tree is illuminated and the gifts brought by Carson have been added to the overflowing pile below it. The TV has been set to a crackling fireplace video and soft Christmas music is playing from the speakers. Perhaps the most amazing of all, the coffee table, which has been transformed into an amazing spread of chocolate fondue with nuts, fresh fruit, marshmallows, cookies, pastries, and rice krispies available for dipping. Coffee, tea, and juice are set up below the TV. 

“This is amazing!” I gasp. “How did you two pull this all off?”

“Don’t question our Christmas miracle, dig in!” Milan shoos away my question. 

As we sit and begin eating Milan and Zoe explain the origins of the Christmas traditions. “In a time before Zoe and Lisa, this apartment was inhabited by the beautiful Sebastian, majestic Lindsay, and myself,” Milan begins in a grandiose voice. “Three roommates united only by their tragic origin stories and their deep love for Christmas. They vowed to keep traditions that they loved, discard the ones that they hated, and create new ones. But most importantly they vowed to do them together and pass them along to the next generation of residents of this magical place. I am proud to inform you that since moving out of this apartment Sebastian and Lindsay have continued these traditions with their family and I have with mine here in the very same apartment.”

“That is so sweet,” I can’t help but interrupt, reaching out to hug Robbe. 

“As you may have noticed the Christmas nook has already been stocked with the essentials of our Christmas morning extravaganza and 24c Christmas virgins have been crowned. Soon we will begin opening presents, yes we will open them one person at a time,” Milan continues with a bright smile. 

“Starting with the most senior resident, of course,” Zoe chimes in. 

“Once we finish with presents then we will play the world’s best drinking game, the Belching Belgian. This game is a 24c original that makes its appearance only on Christmas,” Milan explains. “And yes, yes, yes no need to fret about your evening engagements. You will have a choice between playing with champagne or sparkling apple cider. But personally I would think that dinner with parents would be so much more fun if attended tipsy.” 

“You are up Milan,” Zoe declares hopping up and climbing over the couch to the tree. She digs around a bit and pulls out a gift. 

“This is from me,” she blushes, handing him over a small box. 

Inside there are four homemade Christmas ornaments. We all made them as if we were in kindergarten again, complete with dried macaroni noodles, glitter, and painfully awkward ‘school’ portraits. Milan almost starts crying. He is laughing so hard at our creations, the pictures are truly the best part, Zoe instructed us to dress as if we were five years old and to make a face like we were hung over. I’m sure you can imagine the results. 

“There is also a real gift in there, it's an earring, the one that you wouldn’t shut up about at the mall,” Zoe makes out through giggles. 

“Thank you babe, I love it so much. I am going to hang these up right now,” Milan announces. 

Senne gives Milan his gift next. It is a wooden puzzle with abnormally shaped pieces forming a picture taken at the Oslo pride parade which Senne announces that they will be attending together this summer. Robbe gives Milan a gift bag that includes his favorite teas, a portable charger in the shape of an avocado, and a mason jar full of handwritten notes that Milan has to exercise all of his self restraint to read later. Milan opens my present next, I made him a large collage of all the album covers of his favorite musicians to hang on his wall. Carson hands Milan a thick envelope on top of a large plate of brownies. Milan reads the card silently with a smile on his face and soon a tear in his eye. Inside of the card are two tickets to a Drag show/bubble party that makes Milan jump up and down in excitement. 

“Okay, Zoe, it's your turn before I get too emotional,” Milan says, fanning his face. 

Zoe gratefully receives an assortment of fancy spices from Milan, a date weekend trip to Nice from Senne, her favorite lipstick and perfume from Robbe, an artistic rendering of Justin Beiber from me, and a book of feminist poetry from Carson. 

Next up is Senne, a very difficult man to shop for. Milan gives him the jersey of his favorite footballer on the Belgian National team. The two of them are obsessed with watching football together, Milan says he is in it for the view but I know he enjoys hearing Senne talk about all of it. Senne unwrapps a journal from Zoe, it looks like it has already been filled out. Senne flips through it briefly and decides to read through it later, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek whispering that he loves her in her ear. Robbe got him a book ‘Call of Duty: For Dummies’ which makes Senne laugh and lean over to mess up his hair. I got Senne a frost protector for his windshield, a practical gift for a practical man. Lastly Senne opens a nice bottle of whiskey from Carson. 

Robbe is up next, I know that receiving gifts makes him feel uncomfortable. I asked him about it once and he said that he never wants people to spend money on him. Milan hands Robbe a fancy box with a sly smile, Robbe eyes him with suspicion. This suspicion turns out to be completely warranted judging by Robbe’s embarrassed reaction to the gift, closing the box again almost immediately. 

“What was it?” I whisper with a smile into his ear. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Robbe blushes. 

Zoe set her present down on Robbe’s lap with a groan, the package apparently being incredibly heavy. It turns out to be a weighted blanket. Next a card from Senne informing Robbe that he had signed him up for the kick boxing class that Robbe really wanted to take. I hand Robbe my gift with a kiss. Inside the package there is a mini projector that connects to your computer and all of Robbe’s favorite movie viewing snacks. In the card I started to write about everything that I feel for him as well as a clue as to where he can find his next gift. He will soon find a video I made with some of my favorite memories that we have had together. Robbe kisses me and sits impossibly closer to me after reading through the card, telling me that it was the perfect gift and he is excited for all of our coming movie dates. Next, Carson gives him a book which is a collection of comedic short stories written by Nurses. 

“Check out the bookmark,” Carson prompts. 

“Oh my god, no you didn’t,” Robbe doubles over laughing. 

“What is it?” I ask curiously, swiping the bookmark out of Robbe’s hand. To my horror it is a picture of me clipped from YouTube, a shocked look on my face as a banana hits me. “This is bullying,” I huff, actually finding it quite hilarious. 

“I will cherish this forever,” Robbe is crying laughing now, showing the bookmark to the whole group, eventually leaning over to give Carson a hug. 

“It's your turn now, Banana Man!” Robbe teases me.

“No, surely you don’t have anything for me…” I try to deflect. 

“Shut up my stupid baby gay and open your presents,” Milan scolds handing me his gift. “It is a voucher for one piercing, financed by yours truly. And if I may make a suggestion, you should get that septum piercing you have been thinking about the past few weeks.” 

“Thanks Milan! You think I can pull it off?” I ask, genuinely curious. 

“You could pull off just about anything baby,” Robbe reassures. 

“It’s settled then!” I declare. Zoe pops up next and happily gives me her gift. It is a trivia game called ‘Things They Don’t Teach You in School.’ It was actually because of her on the beach trip that I discovered my love for trivia games. Senne hands me a package next. Inside are two shirts, the first a band T-shirt for a punk rock band that we saw together last week. The second a spoof Nike shirt that has an alternative slogan saying ‘Yike just don’t do that.’

“Am I really that clumsy at the gym?” I laugh. 

“Just about as clumsy as a baby giraffe with a head injury, but we love you anyway,” Senne smiles. 

Robbe needs Zoe’s help carrying in his present for me. “Just open it,” he says excitedly, soothing my questioning look. 

I unwrap the lumpy present first, my jaw drops when I see a beautiful record player underneath the red wrapping paper. “No you didn’t,” I gasp, looking at Robbe and overflowing with love. “Where did you...how did you?” 

“Some guy was selling it at a yard sale, but keep going baby it gets better,” he cheers on. 

“No, no, no way!!” I open the next box which turns out to be a crate full of vinyl albums. They are all of my favorites from Bowie, Queen, AC/DC, Nirvana, and so many more. “Was this all the same guy?!”

“Yeah, I swear this guy was your musical doppelganger,” Robbe giggles. “I had to try so hard to keep it a surprise.” 

“Well, you succeeded! I love you!” I kiss his cheek repeatedly. If I wasn’t already sufficiently overwhelmed Carson’s gift surely made me overflow. 

“Hey, I know it isn’t much, I hope you still like these,” Carson blushes, handing me his gift. 

“What, no way! They still make these?” I exclaim, recognizing the packaging immediately. 

“What is it?” Robbe asks curiously. 

“These are only the most magical markers in the world. They are super thick and they make it feel like you are drawing on a whiteboard no matter what surface you are drawing on. They are so cool and wow, you got me the big pack with all of the colors. Mom would never get the big one for me,” I babble. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Carson smiles. “She had to stop buying them for you when you started drawing on all of the walls.” 

“Oh, I did do that, didn’t I?” I laugh guiltily. “I can’t promise that this time will be any different.”

“Okay okay, Carson’s turn!” Milan announces, pulling his last gift to give from under the tree. 

“What? No. You guys didn’t need to get me anything,” Carson says quickly. 

“Don’t be silly, it's part of the tradition,” Milan reassures with a wink. “And let me preface my gift by saying that this is purely a joke and I realized that I actually have seen you play before and this is in no way a reflection of how good I think you are. It’s just a funny shirt.” 

“Okay, should I be worried,” Carson giggles. 

“No it’ll be fine,” Milan says pretending to be worried. As soon as Carson opens the package and holds up the shirt he can’t stop laughing. I lean over and grab the shirt, taking a look for myself and showing everyone else. It is a cards against humanity shirt with the pairing ‘What fucked up my credit score? -Self Identifying as a DJ.’

“Are you offended?” Milan makes out through his own laughter. 

“No! I’m wearing this tonight. This is great,” Carson says, catching his breath. 

“Okay, good,” Milan sighs. “Zoenne your turn.” 

Zoe and Senne worked together, taking the dog theme to the next level. They found two dish towels, the first that said ‘Dog hair. Both a condiment and a fashion accessory,’ and the second a picture of a German Shepard with ‘Every snack you make, every meal you bake, every bite you take, I’ll be watching you.’ They also gave refrigerator magnets of different dogs’ rear ends and a christmas-print collar for Lola. Their gifts keep the uncontrollable laughter going in sporadic bursts. 

Robbe got Carson a silicone scrub watch with military timing on it. “No way!” Carson exclaimed. “I really needed one of these. How did you know?” 

“I did some research,” Robbe blushes. 

“Thank you so much!” Carson hugs Robbe. 

My own present for Carson makes me really nervous about his reaction to it. On Monday Carson and I talked on the phone for about four hours. At one point I asked him if he wanted me to print copies of all the pictures that I had saved from the house so he could have them too. He admitted that he kind of hates seeing pictures of himself from our childhood. He loves remembering the good memories they captured, but seeing himself in them triggers his dysphoria. In his memories he can picture himself looking how he felt on the inside, but as soon as he sees the pictures he is reminded of how out of sync he felt for so long. Then I got an idea, and that idea has been pretty all encompassing the past few days. I started imagining what Carson would have looked like back then if the universe had allowed him to look like himself. I would never claim to ‘fix’ anything or even that his journey would need fixing but at least I might be able to draw our memories together in a way that can make him feel like himself. 

I hand him his package with a shaky hand and say, “It's okay if you hate it, we can throw it away and pretend like I never made it.” 

“Sander, don’t be ridiculous,” Carson says. “I’m sure I’ll love it.” As soon as his eyes fall on the black and white drawing his breath catches in his throat. It’s a framed drawing of my favorite picture of us. It is Carson holding me at the hospital, I am asleep and Carson is looking down at me with more parental love than most adults could manage, an absolute wonder to behold in a five year old. I used a mixture of reference pictures of myself at age six and an age estimation software that I learned how to use in school using a picture of Carson today to calculate how he would have looked back then. 

I realize that he hasn't said anything since opening the package. He looks up at me and brings me into a hug, burying his face in my shoulder. 

“Do you like it?” I ask, worried. 

“I love it,” he says into my shoulder. 

“Are you crying?” I ask. 

“Yes.” 

“Happy tears?” I smile. 

“The happiest.” 

The drawing gets passed around the group as we continue to hold each other, tears come out of my eyes as well as I realize that this is easily becoming the best Christmas that I have ever had and I am unbelievably grateful to be sharing it with everyone here. 

Carson and I pull away eventually, wiping our eyes with the backs of our hands. “Oof, can we start drinking yet?” Carson jokes. 

“Yes!” Milan agrees happily. “Sander darling, will you help me clear all of the breakfast stuff?” 

I hoist myself off of the couch happy to help. We manage to get it all in one trip, most of the food having been eaten a long time ago, the group helps us stack all of the dishes so they are easy to carry. Milan places everything in his hands in the sink with a sigh. 

“Merry Christmas Sander,” Milan sighs, pulling me into a big hug. 

“Merry Christmas Milan,” I say heavily, he doesn’t know how perfect this day has been for me. 

“I am so thankful to have you here,” Milan looks me in the eyes, his hands on my shoulders. “I love you kitten.”

“I love you too, Milan,” I grin like an idiot. “This is the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time, and I am beyond thankful to share it with you.” 

Milan pinches my cheek endearingly and skips over to the pantry. He digs around for a bit and emerges with a can of something and a mischievous smirk on his face. We walk back into the living room and the cards have already been set up in a circle on the coffee table, everyone except Robbe is sitting on the floor around the small table. 

“So what are the rules?” I ask sitting down on the floor between Robbe’s legs, Robbe wrapping his arms around my shoulders almost immediately. 

“Zoe, do the honors,” Milan directs. 

“Basically it is King's Cup, with some modifications…” she begins, handing each of us a laminated sheet of paper with the game rules listed on them. 

“How fancy,” Senne teases. 

“Of course,” Zoe scoffs. “What sort of establishment do you think we are running here?” 

The paper reads: 

Belching Belgian Rules:   
Set up: a forfeit canned food (the more disgusting the better) is placed in the middle of the circle and the cards are arranged around the can in a circle. Players take turns picking cards and will play according to the rules below. Once the card has been played it is placed underneath the tab of the forfeit can. The card that opens the can or the person who draws the fourth king will have to eat/drink the forfeit can. If a person wishes to not play a card, they must do their best celebrity impression until the end of the game.   
Aces: angels. Use your angelic voice to serenade the group or take a shot for every ‘A’ in your name.   
Twos: it takes two to tango. Recreate an iconic movie scene with the person seated to your right. The first person to guess correctly is the only one safe from drinking.   
Threes: the birds and the bees. Share an embarrassing story from your childhood. Your age at the time of the story is how many sips everyone takes.   
Fours: floor, last one to sniff the floor drinks.   
Fives: Never have I ever with five fingers.  
Sixes: 666 This game is going to hell and the floor is lava.   
Sevens: Sexy seven. Strip an article of clothing.   
Eights: mates, choose a partner and for the rest of the game whatever one of you has to do the other must follow.   
Nines: Rhymes, first to lose the flow drinks.   
Tens: teeth. Say something with your teeth closed. First person to guess correctly is safe from drinking.   
Jacks: cracker jack, the first to crack up drinks. Pick your target and interrogate them until they laugh or you do.   
Queens: queen of the land. Make up a rule, first to mess up drinks.   
Kings: Whoever gets the fourth king has to eat/drink the forfeit can. 

“What's in the forfeit can?” Robbe groans as we all read through the rules. 

“This year, all the way from America...we have the honor of playing with…” Milan pauses for dramatic effect. “Ranch flavored Spam.” 

“Milan, I’m a vegetarian,” Zoe scolds. 

“Well you better not lose then…” Milan challenges. 

“If it comes to that, I will bite the bullet for you,” Senne bravely offers. 

“My hero,” Zoe smiles, kissing Senne quickly. 

“Now, boys and girls, pick your poison,” Milan uncovers the crate of bottles. Milan and Carson are the only two to choose the champagne, Senne and Robbe having family gatherings after, and Zoe and I don’t drink ever. 

Milan and Zoe start a game of ‘nose goes’ by quickly touching their noses. Robbe is the last to catch on, being preoccupied opening his bottle of apple cider. “Oh shit, does that mean I go first?” Robbe asks after looking up. 

“Why yes it does,” Milan smiles. 

Robbe leans over me, grabbing the nearest card. I feel him fall over behind me and soon realize that he is going to sniff the floor, having drawn a four. I catch on next, almost bonking heads with Robbe. I hear a scuffle around the table as everyone tries to get at the floor, everyone else is pretty squeezed in around the table and it is Milan who is the last to make it to the floor. “Drink up Milan,” Robbe winks. Milan pops the cork off of his champagne taking a big sip, earning a cheer from the group. The pressure builds up in the neck of the bottle and champagne sprays into his nose causing hysterical laughter from the group. 

“Well, I’ll open mine now to let the bubbles out,” Carson says after catching his breath. Carson expertly opens the bottle, wiggling the cork out after wrapping his shirt around it. The cork comes out with a pop, without losing any of the champagne. 

“That was impressive,” I complement. 

“Bar tender’s trick,” he winks. 

“Sander, you’re up,” Milan declares, his voice still hoarse from laughter. 

I pick up a card, a five of diamonds. “Never have I ever,” I announce to the group, holding up five fingers. I squint my eyes looking around the circle, devising my plan, determined to win. “Never have I ever been on a plane,” I say in a sneaky voice knocking out a finger for everyone, except Carson. 

Senne is next and he thinks about his question for a second, then starts to giggle evilly. “Never have I ever given a blow job.” Everyone puts down a finger, I catch an interesting reaction from Milan after he notices Carson’s response. 

“That was a low blow,” Zoe rolls her eyes. “Never have I ever had sex with a girl.”   
Only Carson and Senne put down a finger. 

Milan is next and looks over at Robbe and I with a smile, “Never have I ever ran from the cops.” 

“We both have, but for your information, the incident that you are referring to, that was a security guard,” Robbe corrects. 

“Do tell,” Zoe sings, catching the scent of drama. 

“Well, the one time I actually ran from the cops it was right after I finished that mural of Robbe. As you may have guessed it wasn’t exactly a city sanctioned project,” I explain. “It's okay, because I had just finished anyway.”

“That's why Robbe looked so familiar,” Carson exclaims. “Sander that was you? I love that mural.” 

“Yeah that was me,” I blush. 

“Robbe when did you run from the cops?” Senne asks, impressed. 

“Well,” Robbe begins. “It was at a party a few months ago. My friends left me with the stash because they were all too chicken to keep it. The cops came to break up the party and they sort of stopped me as I was trying to leave. They got distracted for a second and that was the exact moment Noor rolled up on her scooter. I felt like James Bond.” 

“Tell them about the security guard though,” Milan insists. “Come on please, it's so cute.” 

“You tell it,” I nudge Robbe. “It’ll take me all day if I tell it.” 

“Oh god,” Robbe groans. “It was back before I emerged from the closet and I was still dating Noor. Sander was still fake dating Britt and we all decided to go on a double date. Before Noor and I even made it inside the bar I got my ass absolutely handed to me by Noor. Granted I was being a pretty terrible boyfriend.” 

“I thought it all worked out perfectly,” I grin. “I got to be alone with Robbe, which is what I wanted all along. It did take some convincing though to make him stop moping around and to have some fun.” 

“He didn’t give me much of a choice,” Robbe laughs. “We left and started riding around on our bikes. Sander insisted that he had a plan, but I was convinced he was lost and that we would be riding around aimlessly on our bikes all night.” 

“I didn’t actually have a plan at first,” I admit. “But then we were in our old neighborhood and I remembered the rooftop pool at our old condo complex, Carson.” 

“It really was a beautiful pool,” Robbe sighs, remembering that night. “Anyway, Sander broke in and somehow convinced me to go skinny dipping with him.” 

“Then Robbe bet me that he could hold his breath underwater longer than I could,” I add. “Turns out he couldn’t.”

“Yeah because you cheated,” Robbe argues. “He kissed me while we were under water, basically making my head explode.” 

“Was that your first kiss?” Zoe asks as if she might burst from how cute our story is. 

“Why yes it was,” Robbe says proudly. “Until the security guard rudely interrupted us.” 

“Yeah, we had to run away naked, but thankfully we managed to grab all of our clothes,” I laugh. 

“Speak for yourself, I lost my boxers and a sock to that pool,” Robbe shoves my shoulder playfully. 

“And with that, never have I ever been skinny dipping,” Carson admits, using his turn to take a finger away from Robbe, Milan, Senne, and me. 

“Never have I ever dyed my hair,” Robbe fires back, sticking out his tongue at Carson. Zoe and I lose a finger as well. 

I realize that Robbe only has one finger left. “Never have I ever thought that cucumbers grow on trees.” 

“Fuck you,” Robbe puts his final finger down sassily taking a swig of his apple cider. 

“How recently was this,” Senne asks. 

“Oh last week,” I laugh, earning a pinch from Robbe. 

“Robbe, honey, we really need to teach you more about vegetables,” Zoe sighs, rubbing her temples. “And just cooking in general.”

“Wow, who would have thought that baby Robbe would lose that,” Milan teases. 

“What can I say, I’ve lived a crazy life,” Robbe smiles, hugging me. 

Senne draws a card next, a two. He and Zoe recreate the scene from Titanic where Jack holds Rose on the bow of the ship. Milan guesses the movie in less than a second, but regrets his correct guess when he realizes that he doesn’t get to drink more of his champagne yet. 

Zoe draws a card next. “Hmmm,” she groans standing up as if she is about to do a performance. “The floor is lava,” she says leaping onto the couch. Robbe rescues me from the floor pulling me onto the couch. Carson makes it to the couch next. Then Senne makes it up after Zoe playfully pushes him off a couple of times. We all look down at Milan who is casually laying on the floor sipping his champagne having not made even the slightest effort to get up. 

“Satan take me now,” he says, raising his bottle into the air. 

“I don’t think you understand the point of this game,” Zoe says, shoving his head as she walks back to her seat. 

“Oh I am winning,” Milan says, already a little tipsy. He leans over to the table picking up a card. He shows off his ace as he begins to sing, “Rudolf the rednosed reindeer. Had a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw it. You would even say it glows”

“Like a lightbulb,” I add in. 

“All of the other reindeer. Used to laugh and call him names.”

“Like pinocchio!” 

“They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games.”

“Like monopoly!”

“Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say…”

“Ho ho ho!”

"Rudolph, with your nose so bright, won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

“Then how the reindeer loved him, as they shouted out with glee.”

“Yippee!”

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. You'll go down in history," Milan finishes with a long, impressive run. 

Milan accepts his applause with many bows and several clinks of bottles. Carson picks a card up next and groans, showing the group that he had drawn a seven. 

Carson pulls his sweater over his head quickly, with a smile on his face. 

“Man, you could have taken off your socks,” Zoe giggles. 

“Well, I was getting hot anyway,” Carson laughs good naturedly, throwing his blue sweater towards the door of the living room, adjusting his plastic crown on his head after. 

“It just got hotter,” Milan says, fanning his face enthusiastically. 

“Milan!” I police. We all can’t help but admire Carson’s tattoos. He has a full sleeve on his left arm and a forearm sleeve on his right. He has roman numerals along his left collar bone, but what draws my eye the most is the moth in flight on his upper abdomen. The moth’s wings reach up to run along the lower edge of his pecs. 

“I mean if I spent that much money on my chest I would want to show it off too,” Zoe says. 

“Zoe,” I snap, looking at her with wide eyes. 

“Oh god,” she says, realizing what she had said. “I meant the tattoos.” 

“No you’re right,” Carson smiles easily, not at all offended by her comment. “I’m very lucky to live in this country and to be able to say that the tattoos were indeed the expensive part.” 

We continue around the table drawing cards, the stack of cards dangerously building up under the tab of the can. At one point Zoe makes a rule that we need to play duck duck goose every time someone says ‘fuck.’ This rule was quickly abandoned after Milan tripped, nearly taking out the Christmas tree. Milan drew an 8, insisting on partnering with Carson, the two of them getting increasingly drunk seeing as Milan is purposely playing to get drunk. The two of them may be the funniest drunks to witness and provide endless amounts of laughter. Two more rounds of never have I ever leave us with very few secrets. Soon Senne and Robbe have lost their shirts as well, not that I’m complaining blushing as I see Robbe’s beautiful body for probably the thousandth time, but it still gives me butterflies in my stomach. In the end it is Senne who draws the fourth king and has to take a bite of the disgusting Spam. 

“You know what? It’s not that bad,” He announces, chewing the Spam thoughtfully. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Milan slurs. “It smelled like a fart when you opened it!” 

“I’ve had worse,” Senne swallows, being a good sport. 

We chat and dance and sing until it is time for Zoe and Senne to leave for Zoe’s parent’s house and for Robbe to go visit his mom. I decide to help Carson get home, Milan drowning us in hugs as we leave with leftover food and Carson’s presents in a heavy bag over my shoulder. Carson had taken the tram to get here so we walk happily down the street. 

“Your roommates are fantastic!” Carson beams, losing his balance slightly. He is definitely tipsy, but the fresh cool air is beginning to sober him up. 

“Yeah, they are pretty amazing!” I smile contently. 

“And you and Robbe are perfect together,” Carson declares into the air. 

“Yeah, he’s an angel,” I beam. 

“Oh no,” Carson stops, guilt on his face. “I didn’t keep you from going with him to his mom’s did I?” 

“No, no,” I reassure. “His mom actually doesn’t know about me yet.” 

“Hmm,” Carson says understandingly. “What is their relationship like?”

“He loves her a lot, and she loves him, how could she not?” I blush again. “She’s been in the hospital for a while and Robbe hasn’t found the right time yet.” 

“Is she okay?”

“She’s getting there,” I answer. “She was hospitalized for depression, but she just moved back into her house yesterday.”

“That's good, is Robbe going to move back in with her?” Carson asks. He is really easy for me to talk to, and it never feels like he is pushing me for answers. 

“That's what we need to figure out,” I sigh, realizing just how much I have been worrying about all of this. “He wants to come out to her first and see how she reacts.” 

“Do you think she will react badly?”

“I mean you never know for sure how people will react, but I hope she reacts well. God I hope she reacts well,” I plead to the universe. “She is pretty religious, so you never know.” 

“Well no matter what happens, it is clear that Robbe will have a loving family right there,” Carson says with a smile, vaguely pointing in the direction of the flat. “And right here.” Pointing at me then himself. 

We walk the rest of the way to the tram stop, arm in arm keeping warm in the cold air. The city looks absolutely beautiful covered in show, racing past the tram windows. Carson tells me when it is about to be our stop and we get off, walking again in the frigid air. We stop in front of a tall apartment building with a picturesque red front door. I follow closely behind Carson as we go up the stairs, Carson only stumbling a little bit. 

“This is me,” Carson smiles, giggling the key in the lock of the apartment at the end of the hall.

As soon as the door opens we are greeted by a very enthusiastic german shepherd. She jumps around and spins in circles in front of Carson, Carson is hyping her up clearly excited to see her as well. After a few minutes of freaking out Luna turns her attention to me, greeting me with the same level of enthusiasm. 

“She’s not much of a guard dog, is she?” I laugh. 

“No, that she is not,” Carson says, closing the door behind us and begins taking off his shoes. 

Carson walks around the corner with the bag Milan sent us with. I soon hear him rustling around in the kitchen, putting away the leftovers and leaving me to look around his apartment. Beyond the small entry way it opens up immediately into a living room. It is cosy with fuzzy blankets draped over the red couch and there are beautiful paintings all over the walls. Everything falls into a red, white, black, and grey color scheme. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” Carson asks, peeking his head around the half wall separating the kitchen. 

“No thank you,” I answer, walking up to a painting that has caught my eye. It is a black and red ink painting of a woman biting into a red apple that leaks its color all down the woman’s arms. “Who did all of these?” I ask, mesmerized. 

“Mostly Val,” Carson begins. “Val did all of the ink paintings, and the others were left by Nora when she moved out.”

I can’t help but admire how beautiful this space is, everything is so deliberate yet so effortless. Someone else might think that it is too edgy, but I feel so comfortable in it and like I could spend a lifetime taking it all in without getting bored. Eventually I force myself to move away from the art and into the kitchen. I see Carson busying himself in the corner of the kitchen, making something. I hoist myself up onto the dark countertops and look around. There is a dog walking chart on the refrigerator for Luna, her last walk I noticed was done by Val while Carson was over at our place. The chart is now being held up by the magnets that Carson received from Senne and Zoe, I snapped a picture for them to let them know that Carson likes their gift. Next to the chart there is a white board with a note written on it. 

Merry Christmas my love! Child has been walked and fed, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Break a leg tonight!   
Xoxo Val

“Is Val your girlfriend?” I ask casually. 

“No,” Carson smiles, it seems like he gets that question a lot. “She’s my best friend and I am chronically single.” 

“Hmm, Milan will be happy to know that,” I tease, smiling at how easy it was to make Carson blush. 

“No way?” Carson sputters. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t think he could have flirted any harder with you, even if he tried,” I laugh. 

“He was just being welcoming,” Carson deflects, returning to whatever he is doing. 

“Do you know what the first thing he ever asked me?” I continue. 

“What was that then?”

“If I had an older brother,” I begin. 

“Is that so?” Carson says in a silly voice. “I know you said you didn’t want anything to drink, but its tradition,” he says changing the subject and placing a large mug in my hands. 

“Loco Cocoa?!” I say excited. “With cinnamon…? And marshmallows…?”

“And nutmeg and ginger and chocolate chips,” Carson lists off in rapid succession. 

“Now all we need is…” I begin. 

“Home Alone…” he answers, picking up a dvd box from the counter.

“I think I have had more sugar today than I have the entire year put together,” I admit. 

“That's how you know it's Christmas,” Carson laughs. “I’ll make us some croques later to calm our sugar rush.” 

“Sounds perfect,” I grin, following Carson into the living room. 

The movie is just as good as I remember it, it has the power to instantly transport me back in time to all of the Christmases that Carson and I have spent together. And true to tradition I fall asleep halfway through the movie, my stomach full of Loco Cocoa and croques. 

“Sander, wake up,” Carson says softly, rubbing my head that has fallen into his lap as I slept. 

“What, what's happening,” I ask confused, the movie isn’t over Carson only paused it. 

“Robbe is calling,” Carson says, holding my phone out to me. 

“Oh shit,” I say, sitting up and rubbing my face. “Hey baby what's going on?” 

“It went well, better than I could have ever hoped. I told her about everything. And she wants to meet you,” Robbe beams through the phone talking quickly. 

“Well that's amazing news!” I am excited now too, I see Carson relax with the corner of my eye. “What are you guys doing now?” 

“Inviting you to come have dessert with us,” Robbe says suggestively. “What do you say? Do you want to come over and meet my mom?” 

I look over to Carson, hoping that he will have an answer for me. He only nods encouragingly, clearly having heard what Robbe said. “Sure, yeah, when?” 

“Whenever you can get here,” Robbe says sweetly. “I love you! I can’t wait!”

“I love you too, see you soon,” I say before hanging up. 

“Yay, yay, yay!” Carson bounces up and down on the couch, pulling me into a tight hug. “Come on, I’m all sobered up now, I’ll drive you there.” 

“Really? Thanks,” I say, still a little dazed from my nap. “What about your show?!” I ask, suddenly remembering. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Carson brushes off. “I play literally three times a week, and besides, it's not everyday that you can spend Christmas with your boyfriend and your mother in law.”

Carson hustles me out the door and into his car, somehow finding the time to fix my hair along the way. As we drive I slowly begin to wake up from my nap haze and become increasingly nervous as we near Robbe’s family home. 

“What if she hates me?” the question slips out at a stop light. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sander. She’ll love you!” Carson looks at me, seeing that I am not quite convinced, and decides to continue. “You are amazing, and funny, and kind, and talented and anyone with half a brain would love you. And besides she probably has already seen how happy you make her son, so you have that going for you.” 

“But I can’t be what she imagined for her son,” I sigh. 

“Maybe,” Carson allows. “But you are much more than she could have ever hoped.” 

“You think so?” 

“I know so,” Carson smiles, rubbing my knee. “Because you and Robbe are perfect for eachother and most people aren’t lucky enough to find that, even once in their lifetime.” 

The rest of the car ride occurs in peaceful silence, Carson having mostly succeeded in his pep talk. My mind is still swirling with a million worst case scenarios. Soon the navigation in Carson’s car alerts us that we have arrived. Carson pulls up easily in front of the cute yellow house. 

“I guess it's time,” I sigh, unbuckling my seat belt. 

“Sander?”   
“What?” I ask, the look on his face telling me that he is trying to decide what to ask. 

“Good luck,” he says after a few seconds of thinking. 

“What is it?” I ask. “I know you, what do you want to say?” 

“I really can’t get away with anything can I?” he smiles. “The last thing I want to do right now is give you more to worry about, but I promised myself I would bring it up today.” 

“And…?” I encourage, kind of thankful for the delay in walking up to the house. 

“Well, we have an empty room in our apartment, and it is yours if you want it. I know there is a lot to figure out with yours and Robbe’s living situation soon, and I just wanted you to know that we want you and Robbe or just you with us if that is something that you decide you would want. And there is no pressure, and you don’t need to answer me right away, but just promise me that you’ll think about it?” Carson rambles. 

I smile and lean over the center console to hug my brother. A huge weight of worry that I have been trying to keep in the back of my mind is isntantly lifted off of my shoulders. I want nothing more than to live with Robbe, but I also want Robbe to be able to live with his mom again because I know that he wants to. And who knows if Marie would feel comfortable having her son’s new boyfriend in the house, or even if I would feel comfortable with that. Honestly, the idea of having my own space, a place no worst case scenario could kick me out of, sounds amazing. “I promise I’ll think about it,” I grin like an idiot as I jump out of the car, waving as I walk up the stairs. 

I ring the doorbell and instantly hear Robbe’s voice from the other side of the door. “Hey beautiful, thanks for coming,” Robbe greets me with a hug after opening the door. 

“Sorry I didn’t have time to pick up flowers,” I say, making myself worried again. 

“Don’t be silly,” Robbe kisses my cheek. “You brought yourself, that's the most important part.” 

“You’re sweet,” I grin, kissing him lightly on the lips. 

“You ready to meet my mom?” Robbe asks with a smile. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I smile again, finding it hard to stay worried with Robbe by my side. 

I take off my shoes and follow Robbe up the stairs, his hand in mine. He leads me down the hallway and into the kitchen. His mother Marie is just placing a pie down on the stove top. She grins, taking off her oven glove, when she sees us. 

“Mama, this is my boyfriend Sander, Sander this is my mom,” Robbe introduces us. 

“It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Ijzermans,” I say holding out my hand to shake hers. 

She laughs, pulling me into a hug instead, “Please Sander call me Marie, I’m happy to meet the man my son has been raving about all night.” 

“Has he now?” I smile at Robbe. 

“Maybe a bit,” Robbe blushes. “Can we have pie now?” he asks, changing the subject. 

“Now that our guest of honor has arrived, I think we can,” Marie winks at me. 

We talk and laugh over pie, and I find it much easier than I expected to talk with Marie. We find easy conversation about art, she being a sculptor herself. However, our favorite topic for the night is childhood stories of Robbe. Unfortunately, Robbe declares that it is time for us to go home before Marie could dig out the photo albums. 

“It was really nice meeting you,” Marie says to me at the door as Robbe is putting on his shoes. 

“You as well,” I smile. 

Marie hugs Robbe tightly once he has his jacket on. “Remember I want you back home before the end of the break,” Marie says as they separate. 

“I know mom, I’ll let you know,” Robbe says, sending a nervous look my way. 

We are outside in the cool night air for less than five seconds before Robbe says, “I’m sorry, don’t freak out, I don’t think she realizes that we are living together. We will figure something out, I promise. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you moved in with me. Or if she isn’t, or if you aren’t we find another apartment after my lease expires at the flat share.” 

“Hey Robbe, calm down, it's okay,” I put my arm around his shoulders, rubbing his back with my hand. “I know how much you want to be back with your mom, and I want that for you.”

“But what about you?” Robbe sighs. “I don’t want to stop living with you.” 

“I don’t either, but I don’t know how to explain it,” I look off into the street. 

“Can you try? I’m listening,” Robbe reassures, intertwining our fingers. 

“Well, you know how sometimes my brain just plays out worst case scenarios in my head? Even when I know they probably would never happen?” 

“Yeah,” Robbe says, indicating that he understands. 

“Well a lot of those scenarios have revolved around my living situation. When it was me and my dad I was always aware that it would just take one thing one fight and I would no longer have a place to live. And I don’t think that feeling has ever left me. And living with you, that has been the best months of my life and I know it's what I want to do for the rest of my life. But in the back of my mind I still feel like I don’t have a back up plan and that if we ever broke up I wouldn’t have a place to go again,” I say, trying my best to explain myself. 

“That makes a lot of sense,” Robbe agrees thoughtfully. “I hate that you have been living with this uncertainty for so long. You know that I want to be with you forever too right?”

“Yes I do, angel,” I smile kissing his forehead, he always knows what to say. “I think it might be a good idea for me to rent a place by myself for a while. And you would be welcome whenever you want, every night if you want. And I can always come over to stay with you, if that's allowed,” I wink at him. 

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Robbe grins. 

“I don’t want you to think that we are taking a step back, I am still as committed to you as I was yesterday. A whole lot more actually,” I smile. “And when we are ready, whenever you want, we could start renting a place together.” 

“It's a date,” Robbe agrees. “When should we start apartment hunting for you? It will have to be close to here, obviously. How does next door sound to you?” 

“I may have already found an opening,” I admit. “I promise, it's close.” 

“Oh is it now?” Robbe smiles. “Tell me more.” 

“Well there happens to be an open room in Carson’s apartment,” I say tentatively. “He told me about it today. He also lives with a girl named Val who is a few years ahead of me at the Academy.” 

“Well that is perfect!” Robbe exclaims. 

“You think so?” I ask. 

“Of course,” Robbe says. “Carson is awesome, and his friend has to be as well if Carson is friends with her. And no internet strangers as roommates is always a bonus!” 

“True,” I smile. “But internet strangers as roommates did work out pretty well in New Girl though.” 

“That, however, is fiction Sander,” Robbe giggles. “This is a much better arrangement.”

“I’m happy you think so,” I kiss his temple. We walk the rest of the way home talking excitedly about everything we need to get done in order to move out of the flat share and to decorate our new rooms. We talk about what nights of the week we will spend at each place. We purposefully avoid talking about how sad it is going to be to leave the flat share. So many of our memories were made there and we will miss our roommates terribly. But those are worries for another day because now we are planning for our next steps and the new adventures we will have along the way.


	20. Hell Week (Sander's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm alive, and I'm back with a long ass chapter. Please leave me a comment if you are still around reading this thing that I am writing. 
> 
> I feel like the whole world has changed since the last time I updated this fic. I live in the US and I have been doing a lot of activism, but writing is still what I like to do in my free time. I hope you enjoy this chapter and it is still my goal to have the entire work finished by the end of this summer. Please stay happy and healthy, learn something new everyday, and wear a mask when you go outside. Sending all of my love your way!

Saturday:

Robbe and I are laying out on our picnic blanket in the park. We have become expert loungers, with a pillow tucked under my head and Robbe tucked along my side, his head on my chest and our legs intertwined. Robbe is reading a book his teacher assigned for summer break. I find it funny that it is Robbe who is the one frowning in concentration at a  schoolbook when it is me who still has exams to take. We’ll add procrastination to the things I am better at than him. In my defense I couldn't possibly be expected to study on a day as nice as this, especially next to a boy as cute as Robbe. 

Instead, I pass the time watching the puffy white clouds twisting slowly in the sky and combing my fingers through Robbe’s long hair. The sun cuts through the clouds and the branches of the trees perfectly to shine right in my eyes. No part of me would ever consider moving right now, so I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face. Maybe a couple minutes pass, maybe a whole hour, my mind is empty. 

“Are you asleep?” Robbe whispers softly into my ear. 

“No,” I say, turning my head so my face is covering Robbe’s. Our mouths are only an inch from the other’s ear. 

“What are you thinking about?” Robbe asks, pulling me closer. 

“Absolutely nothing,” I admit. 

“Sorry I’m so boring,” Robbe giggles, burying his face closer to my neck. 

“No, it’s not boredom,” I begin. “It's just quiet.” 

“Well that’s nice,” Robbe sighs. “You’ve been so anxious recently.” 

“You always help me quiet the noise,” I kiss his hair. “In more ways than one,” I say suggestively. 

“Ah, now he’s back,” Robbe giggles, moving his head so his face is aligned with mine. With a smirk on my face and a blush on his we kiss.    


On days like these we really get to know each other. Between deep passionate  open-mouthed kisses and lighter kisses on the nose and eyelids, or when brushing my eyelashes against his cheek we learn what each breath, giggle, and blissful sigh means. We develop a language entirely our own. 

“Mmmh, hold on a second,” Robbe groans, pulling away to answer his ringing phone. We both recognize the familiar ringtone Robbe has assigned specifically to his mom’s number. 

“Hey mama, what's up?” Robbe asks casually, laying back and allowing me to rest my nose against the side of his face, smelling his aftershave.    


“Wait, mom slow down,” Robbe says, sitting up suddenly. “Oh wow, okay...yeah I want to go...yes I’m done with classes...an hour? Okay, yeah Sander has his car so we can make it back quickly .... okay see you soon...okay love you!” 

I hear only Robbe’s side of the conversation, helping him to pack up our things as he finishes talking to his mom. “What’s wrong?” I ask, shoving Robbe’s book back into my bag. 

“It’s my grandma, she had to be rushed into surgery. She fell and broke her hip. My mom and I have to go to Brussels to go help her. My mom wants to try to catch the train that leaves in an hour. Do you think we can make it?” Robbe fills me in.    


“Yeah, we will swing by the house, pick up your mom and your things, then I can drive you guys to the train station,” I reassure. 

“Thank  you, baby ,” Robbe kisses me quickly, shoving the blanket under his arm and taking my hand in his. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday:

_ Time may change me _

_ But I can't trace time _

Bowie sings to me through my headphones, Robbe’s headphones actually. I know people think that I listen to Bowie all the time, but I don’t. I mean , all of my playlists have at least one of his  songs, but I don’t actively seek out his songs unless I feel my mood beginning to dip. The school week hasn’t even  started, and I am already overwhelmed.  _ Changes _ has been playing on repeat all morning as I force myself to make my portfolio books for  all my studio classes. It is Robbe’s favorite Bowie song and it will forever remind me of him. 

It has been less than a day, but I miss him, I am worried about him. It is killing me that I don’t know how he is doing. I have wanted to call him every minute since I dropped him off at the train station, but his family needs him. I don’t want to burden him and make him feel like he has to answer my calls. I can do this; I can survive missing him for a few days. I can keep myself from stealing his time for as long as he needs to take care of his family. I can do this, I can keep myself on track with my schoolwork, I can keep my moods in balance, I can survive this exam week, I can do this by myself.    


I zone out, my thoughts and the task of binding my works together blocks the outside world from penetrating my focus. I nearly jump out of my seat when I hear my phone ringing. I try to wipe the excess glue  off my hands and onto a nearby rag, but soon realize it is a losing battle. I reach for my paint splattered phone and my heart begins to race as I see Robbe’s contact photo light up my screen. It is just a voice call  luckily; I am sure that I look a little disheveled from working all day. 

“Hi cutie, I miss you,” I blurted after accepting the call.    


“Hey baby, I miss you too,” Robbe responds, his voice sounds tired. “What are you doing right now?”

“I am gluing my portfolio books together,” I say with mock enthusiasm.    


“Oh wow, try not to glue your fingers together this time,” Robbe chuckles quietly. 

“I’ll try my best,” I smile, my heart feeling a little lighter already. “How is your grandma?”

“The doctors say that her surgery couldn’t have gone better actually,” Robbe says, but his voice is still a little sad.    


“Well that is good news,” I say. “But why do you sound so sad?”   


“It’s just…” Robbe sighs in frustration. “It is going to be a long recovery. There is a ton of work that needs to be done here to make the house a livable space for her during her recovery.”    


“Is it wheelchair accessible?” I ask. 

“Yes, but that isn’t the problem,” Robbe sounds so exhausted. “She is a hoarder and there isn’t enough space for the wheelchair to maneuver around the house.”    


“Can you guys clear it out in time for her to get discharged from the hospital?” I ask. “Who else is there to help you?”   


“My uncle is here, and my dad might come later this week,” Robbe answers. 

“How much stuff is there? Will she even let you get rid of it?” I ask. 

“She hoards newspapers, the whole house is filled with it,” Robbe explains. “Luckily, she agrees that we have to get rid of it, she just can’t bring herself to throw them out herself. The main issues are the rats and the mold, and the wood floors have rotten in a couple spots.”   


“Oh baby, please promise me you’ll be safe,” I beg. 

“I will,” Robbe sighs. 

“As soon as I finish my last  exam, I will take the first train out there and come help,” I promise. 

“Well, I won’t be there anymore,” Robe says matter of factly. “I promised my mom that I would stay and help until Friday night, after that I am going back home.”    


“We can stay longer if we need to,” I offer.    


“But I don’t want to,” Robbe says guiltily.    


“Why?”   


“My grandma is a raging homophobe.”

“I see,” I groan, angry that Robbe is in this situation. “I’m sorry baby, you shouldn’t have to deal with her treating you like that.”    


“She still thinks that I am dating Noor,” Robbe says quietly, worried about how I will react. 

“Maybe that is for the best right now,” I  console , I am not angry. Robbe shouldn’t have to feel bad about keeping us private when he is in a situation that is less than accepting. “Maybe this way you can avoid the subject.”

“Think again,” Robbe says sarcastically. “How the gays are ruining the world is her favorite topic of conversation. I hope that I can throw myself into working on the house and avoid her as much as possible.”   


“You shouldn’t have to listen to that, I’m sorry,” I feel heartbroken for him, that his own family would think these things about people like us.    


“I thought it would help if her hateful, ignorant words weren't directed at me specifically, but it is still hard. I feel like I am constantly editing myself and biting my tongue,” Robbe’s voice raises ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't be complaining about this to you, you had it way worse.”   


“No, don’t you dare apologize to me,” I say sternly. “You have fought so hard to accept yourself and to live freely. It's heartbreaking to me that anyone would try to force you away from being your amazing self.” 

“Thank you,” Robbe whispers lovingly. “I already feel a little better hearing your voice.  God, I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, so much,” I sigh. “I’m here for you baby, you can call me whenever you want.”

“I can’t do that. You are working so hard on school right now, I don’t want to distract you,” Robbe worries. 

“Robbe Ijzermans, I will always have time to talk to you. No matter what,” I promise. 

“Same goes to you, you  know. Even though I am here in Brussels I still want to know that you’ll be okay,” Robbe says sweetly. God what did I do to deserve a man like him. 

“Okay let's make a new rule,” I declare, sitting straighter. “No matter what time, no matter where we are in the world if we want to call or text each other, we will. If we miss each other we will call, if the other picks up, great. If not, we will call back as soon as we can. Deal?”   


“Deal,” Robbe agrees. “Okay, I really don’t want  to, but I have to go work on the house. I love you more than anything, and I miss you so much.”

“I love you too sweet boy, now please be safe,” I smile sadly into the receiver. 

“I will, I love you. Bye,” Robbe says before slowly ending the call.    


\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday

Exam weeks have always been difficult for me. There is always so much to do, and time seems to work in a different way. By this point in the semester I am always exhausted and I feel like I have filled my brain to maximum capacity, but at the same time I feel like I will never be able to remember all I will need for my exams. My projects always take longer than I expect them to and I am never 100% satisfied with the outcome. Time moves too slowly even though it races past. All I want is for exams to be over so I can enjoy my summer. My resting stress level is so high that I feel like one thing could tip me over the edge into a full mental breakdown. I find myself clinging on to the mantras and strategies my psychiatrist has taught me.    


_ - _ _ Your self _ _ worth and ability as a student does not hinge on a single exam or class.  _

_ -If you feel yourself beginning to procrastinate on an assignment, become a productive procrastinator. If the task on the top of your list is too daunting start completing the tasks lower down on your list. In doing so you have bought yourself more time down the line to complete the original task.  _

It is going to be fine; I can do this; I just hope everything goes well. I have been on campus since 6am trying to squeeze in a little extra studio time to finish up my human figure final. I stayed up a little later than I should have last night considering my early morning. I was talking to Robbe on the phone then I had dinner with Carson and Val. I have worked so hard to maintain a regular sleep schedule, one night won't hurt too much, but I will have to make sure to get back on track tonight. Plus, last night I felt like I really needed to talk to Robbe, and I am so grateful for my new roommates. Living with Carson and Val has been great. Even though they have their own finals this week they spent all day yesterday meal prepping for the week. They told me that it is their tradition since freshman year, and I believe them when they say that it makes things easier the rest of the week.    


Soon my studio time comes to an end and my timer goes off, signaling that it is time for me to go to my film class. I look at the time and it is a little later than I thought. It’s okay, if I walk fast, I will still make it on time. Usually I budget enough time so I can walk slowly and listen to my music. Film class is my least favorite class this semester and it is entirely due to the professor. Pretentious, egotistical Professor Olson is a filmmaker himself and manages to mention his greatest works in every conversation. At least 20 minutes each day is devoted to updates on his newest film, a film he claims will be a pivotal piece for mental illness representation. From what I’ve heard I am skeptical that this “representation” will be anything but stereotypical retellings of the same old narratives. Hopefully this film will be finished well after I am out of his class, so I won't have to attend the historic pre-screening he has been promising to his students for the past year.    


The one saving grace of this class is that I share it with Amira. We are partners for the final film project. We decided to make a mockumentary centered around the skate park. It has been so much fun to film and it has been a great way for me to get to know Robbe’s friends better. At its core our film is a comedy, but underneath it challenges the  long-held stereotypes of the skater boy culture as being a macho boy’s club full of juvenile delinquents. Instead we show a diverse group of young people who have built a community centered around mentorship and athleticism. At first it was hard to get people to  open up , but after a few days of letting them show off their tricks for the camera we were invited into the ‘club.’ We have all the footage we need, now all we need to do is make our final edits. We should have enough time in class to finish up,  as long as Professor Olson doesn’t talk too much. 

I slide into my seat next to Amira just in time for the start of class. Professor Olson gives me a disapproving look about my close call, at moments like these I wish for larger class sizes. Carson frequently eats a bowl of cereal in the back of his lecture halls and no one even cares. 

“Good morning class,” Professor Olson greets us. “I have some exciting news! After a lot of hard work, my film is finally finished...just in time for me to assign one final critique project.”    


There are some murmurs from around the class and Amira rolls her eyes in frustration. Great, another assignment to do this week, that’s just what I need right now. 

“I require that all students attend a private viewing of my film on campus,” he continues over the growing noises of discontent. “The film will be broken up over two nights into two-hour portions. The first portion will be screened tonight, and the second tomorrow night.”    


“ Of course, he would make a  four-hour film,” I whisper angrily to Amira. 

“ Self-obsessed jerk,” Amira mutters under her breath.

“What time are these screenings? What if we have an evening exam?” A girl named Amanda asks. 

“Don’t worry Amanda,” Professor Olson smiles condescendingly. “I have booked the theater after all of the testing windows have closed. We have it reserved from 11pm through 1am.” 

The class grumbles even more. “That is so late!” someone else complains. 

“Oh please,” he scoffs. “I know for a fact that all of you are awake at that time anyway. Might as well do something productive with your time.”   


“How long does our review need to be?” someone asks. 

“Minimum of a page, single spaced,” he answers. “I am grading mostly for content. I want your genuine, thoughtful opinions. Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear. Show me that my film made you feel something, show me how it may have changed your perceptions.”

He looks around, hoping that his speech has inspired us to be enthusiastic about the  last-minute project. “Come on class! This is your chance to be a part of film making history,” he tries again. 

Soon he dismisses us to continue our work on our film projects. I try to focus on editing, trying to let the funny clips lighten my mood. I try my best, but all I can do is worry about how I am going to get myself to sleep these next two days.    


Class is over soon but my heart and my thoughts are still racing. I call Carson and he picks up after a few rings. “Hey bro  what's up?” Carson asks. 

“Are you in class right now?” I ask, my voice sounding a bit breathy with anxiety.    


“No, I’ve got a few minutes still,” he says, becoming more worried. “What's wrong?”    


“Can I rant for a bit?” I check. 

“Any time,” Carson laughs just a little bit. “Go for it!”

“ So, you know my film  professor, right?” 

“Yeah, the asshole.”

“Yes, the asshole,” it still surprises me how much he remembers from what I tell him. “Well anyway, he has finished his film.”    


“Congrats to him,” Carson says sarcastically. “Maybe he will stop talking about it now?”   


“The opposite actually,” I groan. “He is forcing us all to go to a screening of it this week and to write up a critique.”    


“I’m guessing that wasn’t on the syllabus,” Carson shares my frustration. 

“No, it wasn’t,” I sigh. “Carson, it's a  four-hour film!” 

“Jesus,” Carson exclaims. “When are you going to find time for that?” 

“11pm-1am tonight and tomorrow night apparently,” I answer.    


“And he didn’t give any alternative times?” 

“Nope.”

“What about, you know, sleep?” Carson worries. 

“I know right?” I groan. “I don’t know what I am going to do, I’m already exhausted from staying up too late last night.” 

“Hmm,” Carson thinks. “You should email him and see if you can stream the film at a more reasonable  time or do an alternative assignment.” 

“You think he would let me do that?” I ask. 

“He is required by law to make reasonable accommodations for people with disabilities and mental health disorders,” Carson problem solves. “You are registered as having bipolar with the  school, right?” 

“Yeah, my psychiatrist helped me do that right after I was diagnosed,” I answer, I am already feeling a little better knowing that there is something that I can do now.    


“Okay babe, I  got to go,” Carson says. “Email him soon and if he doesn’t answer quickly, go to his office hours this afternoon.” 

“Okay, thanks for your help,” I smile.

“Any time, and Sander it is going to be okay,” Carson soothes. 

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Bye. See you tonight.”

“Bye.” 

I pull out my phone and begin typing an email:

_ Professor Olson,  _

_ I am writing to you in hopes that we can figure out an alternative way I can complete the final critique assignment. As you can see on my student record I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder in December. As you probably know, a big part of my treatment is maintaining a regular sleep schedule. Especially with this being finals week, I don't think that it is a healthy choice for me to disrupt my sleep schedule for this assignment. I was hoping that there might be a way for me to stream the film from my house at an earlier time or to do an alternative assignment, perhaps on the history of mental health in film.  _

_ Please let me know what  _ _ accommodations _ _ you would be willing to make.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Sander Driesen  _

A few hours later I still haven’t received an email back from Professor Olson. I’m sure that he has received many emails from students today about this  last-minute assignment and their final questions from our film projects. I arrive at his office fifteen minutes before his office hours begin and there is already a long line of stressed students forming down the hallway. I recognize some of them from my  section, so I think it is safe to assume that they are all waiting for Professor Olson. I queue up some Bowie songs on my phone and pull out my notes from art history to study as I wait. I stand in line for about thirty minutes, when my phone rings. 

“Hello detective Mills,” I answer the call. 

“ Hello Sander, how are you?” she asks nicely, from the background noise it sounds like she is calling from the police station. 

“I’m doing okay, it’s finals week so I am a little stressed,” I sigh. “Is there a development in my case?” 

“Actually, that is why I’m calling,” she begins. “The judge has officially called you as a witness and would like to meet with you tomorrow.”   


“Like to give my full statement?” I ask, panicking. “I’m definitely not ready for that.”

“No, no,” she reassures. “It’s just to let h er meet you.  She will run you through what you can expect during the trial and to review the witness list.” 

“I guess I could be ready for that,” I relax a bit. “What time?”   


“7am, I would have to pick you up at 6,” she answers. “I’m sorry it’s so early, but that was the only free time in your schedule that worked for the judge.”

“Um, okay. I guess that works for me.”

“Perfect, thank you for being so flexible. This really helps in making a good impression with the judge,” she explains. 

“Let’s hope so,” I wish out loud. “Listen, it’s almost my turn to go into office hours. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”    


“Yes, actually. I am sorry I have to ask you about this,” she sounds guilty. “How are things with you and Robbe? I haven’t been able to get in touch with him today and I was wondering if something happened.” 

“We are doing fine,” I say gratefully. “He just had a family emergency and had to go to Brussels for the week.”

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that,” she consoles. “Will you just have him call me when he gets back?”    


“Will do!”   


“Okay, thank you Sander. Goodbye.”   


“Bye.” 

Only a few more minutes pass before it is my turn to enter Professor Olson’s office. 

“Which project would you like to talk about?” he asks as a blunt greeting. 

“The critique of your film…” I answer. 

“Listen, Sam. I am going to tell you the same thing I’ve told everyone else,” he interrupts.    


“It’s Sander,” I correct.    


“Sorry, Sander,” he continues. “I can’t make any accommodations or alterations to the assignment. You can only view the film at the times I discussed in class today. If for whatever reason you can't come, you can take an incomplete on the assignment. It will only bring down your grade a fourth of a letter grade.”

“Um, okay. Did you read my email?” I ask. “I have documentation…”

“Sander, no excuses, no exceptions. This is the only way I can make it fair for everyone,” he says with a finality to his voice that signals it is time for me to leave. 

I leave his office with a cynical level of  calm; things just aren't going to go my way this week. This is what I am going to have to do, 4 hours of sleep again tonight. I just hope that it doesn’t mess me up too much. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday

That might have been one of the longest days of my life. I guess that is why Monday’s have gained a dreaded reputation from society. It is almost 1:30am before I make it to where I locked up my bike. My mind is so consumed with the film I just saw that it is hard for me to focus on where I am going. I don't think I have ever seen mental illness depicted so poorly. The whole time I was feeling sick to my stomach. It kills me to know that other people will see this film too, other people who may not see it for what it is, absolute bullshit! I reach the bike rack; the same one I use every day and my bike is gone.    


“Fuck!” I curse, holding  the  broken lock in my hand. Maybe Tuesdays can suck too, I guess that I will have to walk home.

It's about 2:30 when I turn the key in the front door of our apartment. On my walk I decided that I am much too awake to get any sleep before Detective Mills arrives to pick me up. I might as well use this time productively and nap during the day if I need to. I throw myself into editing our film. I have to admit that I rewatched the clips with Robbe a few more times than was strictly necessary for editing purposes.    


I miss him so much and I know that even one hug from him right now would make me feel so much better. I think about texting him, but it is 4am now and I don't want to worry him. I’ll text him later after I meet with the judge. 

A few hours later Detective Mills texts me that she is on her way, and again when she arrives. I am already waiting in the stairway when she pulls up. I had a Redbull this morning, something I rarely do, and I am feeling jittery. 

“Good morning,” she says, holding the door open for me. 

“Good morning,” I respond. My voice sounds rough from disuse.    


“Would you like to stop for coffee on our way there?” she asks.    


“I’m good, thanks,” I sigh. “I think I have had enough caffeine for today.”

We drive most of the way in silence. I watch the raindrops racing down my window and it begins to hit me how close to the trial date we are. The trial has been looming over me for months now and the uncertainty of it all is killing me. Maybe meeting with the judge will help me to stop worrying so much.    


A text message lights up Detective Mills’ phone. A picture of a smiling baby comes up on her screen. “Is that your daughter?” I ask with a smile.    


“Yeah, that's Lily, she was born in January,” Detective Mills says with a gushing smile that I have never seen on her before.    


“She looks like you,” I observe. 

“Really?” She sounds surprised. “We aren’t actually biologically related. My wife carried her.” 

“She has your smile,” I clarify. “All facial expressions are learned behavior anyway. Genetics don't have that much to do with it. At least that's what Robbe told me once.”    


“I never thought about that before,” she smiles. “I like that. That she can still look like me.”    


“Robbe and I want to adopt...one day,” I mention after a while. 

“Oh yeah?” she asks. 

“Not for a while,” I continue. “But yeah, we actually started talking about it really early on in our relationship.” 

“Wow,” she sighs. “I know you will be great parents one day.”

“Thanks,” I say, missing Robbe again. “I’m sure you are a great mom too.” 

\---

_ Text from Robbe: Hey baby, can you call me when you get this? I love you.  _

I call him as soon as Detective Mills drops me off at school after our meeting with the judge . Robbe answers after three rings. “Hey cutie, what’s up?” I ask. 

“Nothing, I just wanted to hear your voice and to hear about something other than piles of junk,” Robbe laughs sarcastically.

“And you thought hearing about my exams would be an improvement? Bold of you to think that,” I smile.    


“Hmm, yeah I would kill to be taking an exam right about now.”

“Weirdo,” I tease. “Is it really that bad?” 

“It's pretty disgusting,” Robbe admits. “I was working all day in shorts yesterday, and I thought I got really tan on my legs. But it turns out that it was all dirt.” 

“Got to love nature’s sunscreen,” I groan in solidarity. “Well soon we can lay out on the beach together and get you a real tan.”    


“Oh yeah, that reminds me! I want to teach you how to surf!” Robbe says excitedly. 

“Um, not going to happen,” I say decisively.    


“Why not?” Robbe giggles, pretending to be hurt. 

“I’m not the best swimmer,” I mutter under my breath. 

“What's that?” Robbe asks.    


“I’m not that good at swimming,” I say louder. 

“But you seemed so confident at the pool on our first date,” Robbe is confused. “You were making bets left and right.”    


“Yeah, well that was all to get you to kiss me,” I inform him. 

“Well it worked,” Robbe congratulates me. “But you aren’t a confident swimmer after all?” 

“Carson taught me what he could in the pool, and I’m good with the bare minimum safety stuff. But I have never swam in the ocean,” I explain. 

“Is it something you would like to learn?” Robbe asks. 

“Absolutely,” I say excitedly. “I’d love to go skinny dipping with you in the ocean.”    


“Not exactly what I was offering, but I guess that could be arranged.” 

“Well what were you offering?” 

“Uh, swim lessons!” Robbe laughs.    


“What do I have to do to get the teacher to go skinny dipping with me then?” I tease him. 

“Passing your swim exams,” Robbe answers.    


“Can I bribe the teacher?” I ask slyly. 

“It's a matter of safety, so…no,” Robbe puts on an authoritative tone. 

“Well, shit!” I sigh dramatically. “I guess I’ll have to learn for real.” 

“I guess you will,” Robbe stands his ground. “Anyway, how is your morning going?” 

“About that…”

“Yeah?” he asks worried. 

“I met with the judge today who will be presiding over my dad’s case,” I say, making the tone of the conversation dip. 

“Oh, and how did that go?” Robbe asks. 

“Pretty well actually,” I am relieved. “She explained what I can expect while testifying, what questions the defense  is allowed to ask me and what they aren’t. She also told me who else is on the witness list.” 

“Who all is it?” Robbe asks. 

“They called Carson, me, you, Milan, Britt, Amber, detective Mills, the boy who reported his friends for beating us up , and a trauma expert . We aren’t allowed to know who the defense called. As of now we are also not allowed to talk to each other about the case besides logistical things like what I just told you.” 

“Does that mean I can’t be there when you testify?” Robbe asks. 

“Unfortunately, no. But anyone who wasn’t called can come support you if they want,” I answer. 

“And you too, and everyone else when they testify,” Robbe reminds me. 

“Yeah, if they want to,” I stammer. 

“Of course, they would want to,” Robbe corrects me. “Sander they are just as much your family as they are mine, they love you and will want to support you if you want them there.”    


“You really think so?” I ask. 

“I know so,” Robbe insists. “Jens and Zoe already told me that they will be there  every day .” 

“Wow, I really appreciate that,” I know I won’t be able to talk to them about it until the trial is over, but it will be nice to have someone who will be able to witness the whole thing. 

“Listen baby, I love you and I miss you and I can’t wait to see you, but I have to go to class,” I say in rapid fire. “I hope your day is better today than yesterday and I can call you tonight if you want.” 

“My day is already better because I got to talk to you,” Robbe says sweetly. “I love you too and I know you are going to ace your exams.”    


“Thank  you, babe , I love you.” 

“Love you too, bye.”

“Bye sweetie.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday

*Trigger warning* Self harm – Sander crushes his fingers in his desk to try to keep himself awake

  
If sleep was supposed to happen last night, my brain didn’t get the memo. I know that I am not in the best place right now, but my mind and my body feel like they are running a marathon this week. If I can just keep pushing for a few more days everything will be okay again. I will be done with my classes and I will be able to relax and enjoy my summer with Robbe, that is until the trial. But I can’t think about that right now, that is emotional energy I will have to use up later, but now school. School is what I have to focus on. 

I am sitting in the back row of Professor Olson’s class next to Amira right now. I am trying my best to stay awake and focused on my classmates’ films, but I am just so tired. The darkness and warmth of the room is making my  last few sleepless nights finally hit me. My eyelids feel heavy and my brain  can't focus on anything that is on the screen. The images and the sounds are all  agitating to me and I feel even more on edge. 

If I could just have one thing to ground my thoughts, maybe then I could focus. I try my mantras that Dr. V taught me, they don’t work. I try to map out Robbe’s face in my head, but I convince myself that I have forgotten what he looks like.  When I give up on focusing, I try to stay awake by daydreaming about  all the things that I  want to do this summer. Soon not even that can keep me awake. 

I promise, the first time I did it was an accident. I jam my thumb in the hinge of my desk and push down. At first it is just a dull pain, enough to keep me alert and focused. As time goes  on, I  have to push harder and harder  on the desk to keep myself awake. What started as a dull pain becomes sharp and throbbing, I’m sure I will have a bruise  underneath my fingernail tomorrow.

When Amira comes back from the bathroom she accidentally pushes down on my desk as she makes her way to her own desk. The added pressure makes my groan quietly in pain. She notices, of course, she notices everything. Her eyes go wide when s he realizes that I am hurting myself. She reaches over and forces me to give her my hands. 

She holds both of my hands in  hers and looks me in the eyes, “Don’t do that.”

“I was trying to keep myself awake,” I explain. It sounds stupid when I say it  out loud .

“We are in the back, fall asleep if you need to. No one cares,” she says. “I’ll wake you up when it is our turn to present our film .”

“Okay,” I agree easily, leaning back in my chair trying to get  comfortable . It is easy for me to fall asleep and soon my head is slumped on Amira’s shoulder. Her hair blocks my face so no one would be able to see my closed eyes. She doesn’t let go of my hands for the rest o f class.

I don’t know how long I was asleep for, but Amira wakes me up by squeezing my hands gently.

“We have to go up in 15 minutes,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I whisper back, stretching in my seat.

“Here, drink this,” she says, handing me her  water bottle . “It’s ice water, it might help to wake you up.”

“Thank you,” I say,  gratefully . She was right, it does help a bit.

Soon it is our turn to introduce our film. Amira takes the lead describing our creative process and our inspiration for our film. She lets me talk about which filming  techniques we used and how we edited our fin al product.  I can’t remember anything that I said, but Amira reassures me that I did a good job. Anything I left out she covered for me. I still can’t focus on watching our film, so I watch the audience inste ad. They laugh at every moment that I hope they would, they aww at the tiny skaters of the younger  generation , and a few of them cry at Robbe’s interview. Robbe spoke about how accepting the skate park community was when he came out . At the time Robbe was nervous about sharing all that, but I told him that his words would mean a lot to a lot of people. Turns out I was right.

Soon the class is applauding our film and Professor Olson turns on the lights which burn my eyes. “Well, excellent  work most of you. I am truly impressed,” he says, I roll my eyes at his subtle dig. “Thank you for a great semester.”

Sensing the end of class approaching some of the students begin quietly packing up their things. It is barely  noticeable , but Professor Olson makes a big show of clearing his throat. “Anyway,” he continues. “I will be getting back to you soon about your grades and the teaching committee will select the films for the film festival. Good luck on the rest of your exams and please don’t forget the critique assignment . It’s due online by 9am Saturday.”

I pack up my stuff quickly and bee line to the door, I would like very much never to see Professor Olson again. I just make it out of the door when I feel Amira’s hand o n my elbow. “Hey Sander, can we talk for a second?”

“Hey yeah,” I say casually. “I think they really liked  it; I think we have a good shot at the film fest...”

“ Sander are you okay?” she  interrupt s.

“Yeah, yeah,” I deflect, but she isn’t having it. “I am having a bit of a rough week, but I’m sure that I’ll feel better once exams  are over.”

“Okay,” she sounds uncertain. “You don’t need to talk to me about it, but please promise me that you will talk to someone? You can’t keep hurting yourself, for any reason.”

“I know, and I will, I promise,” I say, trying to make sure that she knows I hear her.

“Are you done for the day?” she asks. “We could get coffee if you want and I can help you study for art history. ”

“ Thanks, for  the offer, but I am done for the day,” I say. “I was just going to go home and try to get some sleep.”

“Okay, that sounds like a good plan,” she smiles. “ Well, I have to go this way.”

“Okay,” I smile, moving to walk towards the bus stop.

“And Sander I am always here to talk if you ever need,” she says.

“I know,” I say  gratefully . “And thanks for today, I really appreciate it.”

“You are one of my best friends Sander. I love you, you  know, that right?” she pushes my shoulder lovingly.

“I know that,” I blush. “ Let's hang out this summer, you’re staying in  Antwerp, right?”

“Yeah, I’m moving in with Casey,” She smiles.

“No way!” I beam. “We can go on double dates.”

“I’d like that,”  she says. “I’ll see you tomorrow night  at the exam.”

“See you then!”

“Good luck Sander.”

“You too.” I wave goodbye as I walk down the hallway and out onto the street. I keep my promise to Amira and call Dr. V’s office. I make an appointment for Saturday afternoon.   


\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday

*Trigger warning* use of dead name

I am staring at my Art History notes and absolutely none of the words are sticking around long enough to string together a sentence in my mind. If you asked me then what thoughts I was having I honestly couldn’t tell you. All I know is that there were a lot of  them, and they were all very loud. Like the words on the page, my thoughts would flash to the front of my mind for only a second before being replaced by the next one, never sticking around long enough to be processed. 

I didn’t notice my heart rate elevating and my breaths shortening until I was gasping for air, unable to fill my lungs. I feel warm like my skin is boiling. I take off my shirt and tug at my hair with my left hand, digging my pencil into the page with my right hand. 

“Hey, Sander. It’s 16:00,” Carson calls from the other room, his voice momentarily penetrating the cumulous in my mind. The pencil cracks in my hand and my body decides to stand from my desk and pace around my room. The room feels smaller than usual, if I reach my hands  out, I am sure that my fingertips will brush all four walls at the same time. 

Only seconds pass in my mind when Carson’s voice comes again. “Sander it’s 16:30, you need to leave soon.” My mind is on fire, it's screaming, or am I? Is that my voice or is it all in my mind? I just want it all to stop!

“Sander, what is it? What's wrong?” Carson asks bursting into my room, making the room shrink even more.    


“I can’t, I can’t,” I barely whisper through my panting breaths. 

“Slow down for a moment,  look at me,” Carson tries to calm me down, moving closer again. 

“Just don’t…stay away!” my voice sounds angry. 

“Sander tell me how to help you,” he begs.    


“I just told you,” I say frustrated. “Leave me alone.” 

“I’m not going to do that,” his voice is calm. How is he not on fire right now?

“I can’t do it,” I say again. 

“What? Your history exam?” Carson’s voice is annoying me now. 

“Any of it,” I say as an answer. 

“Sander, just breath, we will put a shirt on  you, and I’ll take you to your exam,” Carson tries again.

“Do you really think I give a shit about that right now?” I yell. I really do care about it, that is part of the reason why I am so angry right now. I care about this class, I care about this test, but my fucking mind won’t shut up. 

“Sander, you have worked so hard this semester, all you have to do is just put your name on the answer sheet,” Carson says.    


“I’m just so sick of all of it, I can’t do it anymore,” I am unable to control the volume of my voice. It comes out as a yell.

“Sander, please just,” Carson begins.   


“Just fuck off!” I interrupt. “Just leave me alone, it shouldn’t be too hard. You have had plenty of practice.”    


“Sander, please. Just let me help you,” his voice is so sad. What am I doing? I can’t stop myself. 

“Leave me the fuck alone Cassie.”

“Don’t call me that,” his voice is firm, but broken. For the first time in my life I think I have hurt him, I have scraped through every layer of his skin and done damage. A million apologies race through my mind and I want to say all of them, my mouth  and  my voice won’t  cooperate, and we are left in silence. Deafening silence where we stare at each other, both hurt, both at a loss for words. 

The silence is broken by a knock at the door. “Um, I’ll get it,” Carson sighs, collecting himself. The glassiness of his eyes breaks my heart. 

I return to my pacing and can hear the conversation from the front door. 

“Oh, hey Moyo.  What's up?” Carson asks in a forced happy tone. 

“I just came by to return Sander’s tripod, we used it in our last video,” Moyo explains. 

“Thanks! I’ll give it to him,” Carson says. 

“Is he here?” Moyo asks. “Can I say hi?”    


There is a pause, then Carson says, “Um now isn’t really a good time, he has to leave for an exam soon.” 

“Is everything okay? I could walk him there,” Moyo offers.    


“He’s having a rough couple of days, but I mean I guess you could give it a try,” Carson rambles. 

“Does he have to go?” Moyo asks. “Could he take it another time?” 

“No, all he has to do is sit the exam,” Carson explains. “The professor drops the lowest exam, but he still needs to show up and try.”    


“Okay, I’ll get him there,” Moyo says, determined. 

“You sure?” Carson sounds exhausted. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Moyo reassures. 

There are a few moments of shuffling on the other side of the door before I hear Moyo knocking on my door. He opens it before I answer, not that I would anyway.    


“Hey man, grab your backpack and let’s go,” Moyo commands. For some reason my body obeys, I think I am desperate to get away from all the shit I just put Carson through. To get away from the guilt that is threatening to take me over. 

Moyo follows me down the stairs and out of our apartment. When we make it out onto the street the cool spring air instantly cools me down. I look down and remember that I am not wearing a shirt. I turn around embarrassed and see Moyo holding out a hoodie offering to me. It’s my hoodie, he must have grabbed it for me on our way out.    


“Thanks,” I mutter, still embarrassed. 

We start walking towards the academy, Moyo follows my direction, walking next to me in silence. “You probably think I’m such a weakling,” I say, kicking myself that I let things get to this point. “I can’t even get to an exam on my own.” 

Moyo is silent for a moment more. “Did you know that my mom is bipolar?” 

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Moyo continues. “And she is the strongest person I know.  Sure, she needs help sometimes, but who doesn’t?” 

“I feel like I am constantly about to explode. Just one tiny thing will push me over the edge.”   


“And you still manage to do countless brilliant, amazing, beautiful things in spite of it all and for that you are unbelievably strong,” Moyo says in a sincere voice I have never heard from him.    


“But I hurt people.”

“Who? When?” 

“Well, Carson. Just now. I didn’t mean  it; I couldn’t control it. I wish I could take it all  back, but I can’t,” I ramble. “What if I’m not actually manic and I was just being horrible to him. Because I could, because deep down I wanted to.” 

“I don’t believe that. Like you just said you didn’t mean to and you wish you could take it back,” Moyo reminds me. “You love  him, and he loves you. You guys are brothers and sometimes brothers fight. I’m sure he will forgive you.” 

“What if I can’t forgive myself?”

“Give yourself a break man,” Moyo puts his hand on my shoulder. “Life has you stressed up to your ears right now. You are allowed a couple of diva moments.”

“Ahh haha, fuck you,” I manage a smile. 

“Come on, don’t use them all up at once. You might earn yourself a reputation.” 

“I’ll try not to,” I laugh quietly.

“Well this is it,” I say as we arrive at the auditorium where the test is being held. “Thank you for getting me here.” 

“Oh, I’m not going away yet,” Moyo informs me.    


“What are you talking about?” I’m confused.    


“I’ll sit the test with you,” he offers. “It’s a big class they won’t even notice I’m there.”

“Why would you do that?”

“If I’m  going to help  you, I’m  going to see it through to the end,” Moyo explains. “If you start stressing again just look over at me and I’ll make a weird face or something to distract you.”

“You’d do that for me?” I am genuinely surprised.    


“Absolutely,” Moyo says as if it’s a stupid question. “You’re a  broerrr now, remember?” 

Moyo is true to his word. He takes the seat next to me and as he predicted no one even notices that he is here for the first time ever. I laugh to myself as I watch Moyo bubble in his name on the answer sheet and throughout the exam as he appears to be stumped by  all the questions. Having him here keeps me surprisingly calm. At the very least I know that I did better than him. 

When I finish my test Moyo decides that he has had enough as well. We walk out of the auditorium, dropping off our tests on the way.    


“So how was it?” I ask him as a joke. 

“Man! I didn’t expect art school to be that hard!” Moyo sounds impressed. “How’d it go for you? Did you actually understand any of that shit?”   


“Yeah, I did actually. I guess I managed to study better than I thought I did,” I smile, allowing myself to be proud for a second. “So, no art school in your future?”   


“Well Moyo might still want to go and unlike Mike Coxslong I have a clean testing record,” Moyo grins stupidly.    


“Is that the name you put on the exam?!” I laugh wholeheartedly. 

“Honestly would you expect anything less from me?” He laughs too, proud of his comedic prowess.    


“I guess not,” I smile.    


We walk all the way back to my apartment and I can’t even begin to say how thankful I am for Carson and Moyo for getting me through that. Even though Professor Olson’s essay is still looming over my head I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.    


We make it to the front door and Moyo senses my hesitation. “Just apologize to him and I’m sure it will be fine,” he says knowingly.    


“I know, I just feel terrible. What if he can’t forgive me that easily,” I worry. 

“He’s your brother. You will both probably say all manner of things to each other before we’re done. But you’d always forgive him, right?” Moyo asks.    


“Probably, yeah,” I admit easily. 

“Then go give him a chance,” Moyo pushes me lightly towards the door. 

“Thanks again and I’m sorr...”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he interrupts with a smile. “I’ve it your back dude, always.”    


I smile at him before turning towards the door. I need to stop stalling. I walk up the stairs and arrive at the door. It has been left unlocked for me and I ease it open quietly. I open the door to see Carson sitting on the couch asleep with a textbook on his lap, the lamp on, and his glasses on his face. I can’t help but think that he was waiting up for me. I drop my bag at the door and take my shoes off silently. When I reach Carson I try to ease the textbook out of his grasp. He wakes up a little confused once the weight has been lifted off his lap.    


He smiles at me and asks, “Oh hey Sander. How was the exam?”

“It went pretty well I think,” I say. I can feel the tears coming down my face.    


“Hey what’s wrong,” he asks leaning forward. 

“I’m just really sorry. For everything I said to you. I know you were trying to help me and believe me I appreciate it. But I just couldn’t control myself. Everything was coming out wrong and I’m sorry for hurting you,” I manage through tears. 

“ Hey, come here,” Carson soothes, pulling me down onto the couch and into a hug. “Don’t worry about me. I know you were having a hard time and I don’t hold it against you. I just didn’t know how to help you in that situation and I’m sorry for making it worse.”

“But you didn’t. You did everything right. I’m just broken.”   


“ No, you aren’t,” Carson holds me tighter. “You are perfect in every sense of the word because you are you. And you are my little brother.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Hey it’s okay. I love you. It’s all going to be alright.” 

He holds me there rubbing my back and my hair until I quickly fall asleep. I don’t know how long we sat there but at some  point, I registered that I am back in my bed. I am so  exhausted, and I am thankful for the sleep that finally takes over. 

  


\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday

The first glow from the sun is peeking through the windows when I feel something pressing down on the mattress next to me. I roll over and groan at being woken up. I am angry at first, until I see what it was that made the mattress sag, it is Robbe. He came home  early; I wasn’t expecting to see him until tonight. 

“Sorry for waking you up,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss my forehead. 

“Don’t be ridiculous! Come here,” I order, wrapping my arms around Robbe’s shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Robbe sighs into our kiss. He kisses me so softly, so sweetly, just being in his presence is enough for me right now. I have little energy to do anything else. He pulls away so he can look at my face. He brushes his thumbs under my eyes, tracing the dark bags that are undoubtedly there. “I couldn’t see these over FaceTime.”   


“Yeah, I had a bit of a rough week,” I explain, trying to brush it off. I’m sure his week was worse.    


“Tell me about it,” Robbe says, combing his fingers through my hair. He genuinely wants to know.    


“Well finals week is always hard for me,” I begin. “A lot happened on top of it all and I got overwhelmed.”    


“Like meeting with the judge?” Robbe asks. 

“Actually, that wasn’t too bad. It was really early in the morning though,” I begin. “What really killed me was this surprise assignment my film professor assigned. He made us watch his four-hour film and I still have to finish the critique for it.”    


“Were you sleeping enough?” Robbe rubs his thumbs under my eyes again.    


“No,” I sigh. “The viewing was really late at night, and I was stressing so much that I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep for three days.” 

“Oh honey,” Robbe soothes. He doesn’t judge me, he doesn’t pity me, he just worries for me. “How are you doing now?”

“Not great,” I admit. “I lashed out at Carson last night. I was  really mean to him. But Moyo helped me calm down and he got me to my art history exam.” 

“I feel really bad for waking you up now,” Robbe feels guilty.    


“Don’t,” I reassure. “I needed to see you. Why’d you come home early?” 

“I just couldn’t deal with it anymore,” Robbe groans. “I get that she is my grandma, and I am sure that I loved her at one point in my life, but we are so different.” 

“Well love and family takes a lot more than just blood,” I remind him. “She hasn’t done much to get to know you, you don’t have to love her on principle or out of obligation.”   


“Thank you,” Robbe places his forehead on mine.    


“Did your mom come back too?”

“No,” Robbe groans, I can tell that I struck a nerve.    


“Oh no?” I sigh, sensing something painful for Robbe. 

“She has decided to stay behind and take care of my grandma, long term,” Robbe states matter of factly. 

“And how do you feel about that?”   


“It's selfish,” Robbe admits, worried that I will judge him for explaining his feelings. 

“So what? Tell me anyway.” 

“I’m sick of coming in second,” Robbe lets out. “I feel like my mom will always pick someone or something else before she picks me. When did she decide that I no longer needed her? When did she decide that I would be fine taking care of myself? I just got her back and I don’t want her to go away again.”

“It isn’t selfish to want to have your mom take care of you,” I reassure him. “Is she going to keep the house here for you?” 

“No, she wants to sell it and help me find somewhere cheaper to rent,” Robbe is genuinely anxious now. “The  flat share is  full, and I really don’t like the idea of living with strangers.” 

“Move in with me,” I blurt out. 

“Really?”

“I mean only if you want,” I kick myself. I don’t want to pressure him, I got carried away with the thought of living together again. 

“Of course, I want to,” Robbe smiles nervously. “Only if you want to, I don’t want to make you do something you’re not ready for…”   


“Robbe Ijzermans, I would love nothing more than to have you to move in with me,” I say truthfully, looking into his brown eyes. “Please move in with me.” 

“Okay,” Robbe grins excitedly. “I’ll move in with you.”   


“It’s settled then,” I say, unable to stifle my yawn. 

“Ugh, let’s get you back to sleep,” Robbe says, pulling the covers over our shoulders. “When is your essay due?” 

“Midnight tonight.”    


“How much do you have done?”    


“Hardly anything,” I groan. “He always wants us to have such original and thoughtful analysis in our critiques, but I can’t think of anything to say about the film except that I hated it. I still can’t believe that he assigned it, he is supposed to be this champion of mental health awareness, but his film just butchered everything. And he was unwilling to even hear me out about how doing the assignment would affect my mental health.”   


“Maybe instead of critiquing the film, you could critique the assignment itself,” Robbe suggests. 

“What do you mean?”

“Explain how his actions directly impacted you this week, he helped cause a manic episode for you, and for what?  So, he could force another shitty representation of mental health down your throat?”

“That is actually a really good idea,” I say, Robbe inspiring me once again. 

“Well first you need to sleep,” Robbe orders. 

“Okay,” I agree easily. “Will you make sure I am awake by 16 to finish the assignment?” 

“Promise,” Robbe kisses my cheek. “And I can help you edit it.” 

“I love you.”   


“Love you too.” 

We hold each other and sleep for hours. I don’t think I have ever slept this well for so long, if any thoughts come across my dreaming  mind, they are good ones. Robbe doesn’t sleep for the whole time, but he never leaves, he never moves away from me. For this and everything else he does, I am thankful for him. He is my angel. 

\---

At 15:50 Robbe starts playing music on my record player. I open my eyes to see him dancing and singing along to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long.’

“What are you doing?” I laugh.

“Passing my Bowie exam,” Robbe informs me, strumming his invisible guitar.    


“No, you aren’t,” I laugh harder.    


“What? I know all the words!” Robbe complains. “Don’t you like my dance moves.”    


“It is all very impressive,” I tease. “However, this song is by AC/DC.”

“No, it can’t be!” Robbe is embarrassed. “I thought this disc was a Bowie disc.” 

“No, it’s a mixed disc of my favorite rock anthems,” I laugh.    


“I guess I will have to keep studying then,” Robbe pouts. 

“Or you could bribe the teacher,” I suggest. 

“ Oh, can I now?” Robbe winks. “How might I do that?” 

“I can think of a few ways,” I grab his hand and pull him closer to the bed. 

“How about I…edit your paper,” Robbe says coyly from where he sits on my lap. 

“That is a lot less sexy than what I had in mind,” I pretend to be disappointed. 

“I don’t know,” Robbe grins. “You haven’t seen me in my new glasses yet.” 

“Ooh, now I’m interested,” I say enthusiastically, standing up and walking over to my desk to get started. 

“Good luck my love, let me know when you need an extra set of eyes,” Robbe hugs me around the chair and kisses my neck before leaving me alone to type. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Robbe makes every part of my life so much better. 

Saturday

*inspired by the conversation Matteo and Hans had in Druck*

With Robbe’s help I was able to submit my essay last night. Robbe and I made a big deal about not having to set an alarm for the morning and allowing ourselves to sleep in as late as we want. I wake up on my side, facing the alarm clock which reads 7:30, a little earlier than I would hope, but I still got a good amount of sleep. Robbe has his body wrapped around my back, trying his best to be the big spoon. I smile to myself sinking deeper into his embrace and holding his hand to my chest kissing his knuckles. 

“Good morning,” he says, kissing my shoulder. 

“Good morning,” I croak, with a dry throat. “Were you already awake?” 

“Yeah, but I couldn’t bring myself to move you,” Robbe admits, brushing my hair behind my ear. 

“Thanks for that, I like waking up in your arms,” I sigh, rolling over to face him. 

“What do you want to do this morning?” Robbe asks, kissing my forehead. 

“I want to take a shower,” I decide. 

“Can I come?” Robbe suggests with a giggle. 

“You are always invited,” I wink. 

“Good to know,” Robbe smiles. “Cool cool cool cool cool.” 

“Come on silly boy,” I say, hoisting myself out of the bed with a groan. Robbe follows being dramatically limp, letting his limbs be noodles. 

We push and tickle each other down the hall and arrive at the door of the bathroom a giggling mess. The door opens abruptly, and we are met face to face with Milan. What is he doing here? 

“Good morning,” he says in a forced casual tone. He tries to sneak past us in our surprise, down towards Carson’s room. Carson’s room? Oh my god! All the pieces snap into place in my head. 

“Milan?” I call. “Where do you think you are going? Come back here.” 

“Okay, fine. You caught me,” Milan comes back, stepping lightly like he is a spy trying to avoid detection. 

“So, you and Carson finally got together?” I lead. 

“What?!” Robbe gasps, looking between me and Milan and seeing the blush forming on Milan’s face. “Oh my god! That’s fantastic Milan!” 

“Shh ,” Milan hushes. “It is all still really new, but yeah we are having a thing.” 

“A thing?” I tease. “Well you spent the night huh?” 

“Yeah, but we didn’t do anything. We just slept,” Milan is more flustered than I have ever seen him. 

“Aww, sleeping over without having sex is even more intimate,” Robbe coos. 

“Is it?” Milan is truly flustered now. “I really don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where it all is going.” 

“Where do you want it to go?” I ask. 

“I really like him,” Milan looks relieved to get that off his chest. “Probably more than I have liked anyone else before. And I am terrified, I have never been good at the whole relationship thing. And I really don’t want to screw it up!” 

“Ah is it my turn to be the guru?” Robbe gets excited. “Come on, tell me I get to be your guru.” 

“You aren’t my guru, I still know more than you,” Milan pouts. 

“Yeah about acceptance and sex and coming out, but about relationships you know jack shit,” Robbe fires back. 

“Ouch,” Milan laughs. “Fine, you can be my relationship guru.” 

“You guys are weird,” I laugh, their  friend ship is truly something else. But it is unbelievably cute to witness. 

“Shut up,” Robbe pushes my shoulder lightly. “So, the key to relationships...” 

“What? Now?” Milan questions. “I’m not talking about this stuff in front of Sander.” 

“Oh, I’ve completely separated myself from the fact we are talking about my brother,” I inform him. “In my mind we are talking about someone else, so fire away.” 

“So, relationships,” Robbe starts again. “They’re all about letting another person in, in all aspects of your life. You let them see the real you, even if that is the person you are working to be. Slowly over time, or as you feel comfortable sharing you let them see your dreams, your fears, your desires, your passions, everything. And you show patience as your partner does the same thing. There isn’t a set schedule, there isn't a rule book you just need to be patient and show up with love at every opportunity.” 

“Wow, you should listen to him, he knows what he is talking about,” I say, absolutely in awe of the boy I get to call my boyfriend. 

“And with him, we are doing that, and I feel like he knows me better than just about anyone else,” Milan says. 

“Then what is the hold up?” Robbe asks. 

I can see the gears turning in Milan’s head as he formulates what to say next. He keeps looking over at me guiltily like he doesn’t want to talk about it in front of me. Robbe catches this too and jokingly puts his hands over my ears. This gets Milan to lighten up and spill. Little do they know that I can still hear everything, I stare up at the ceiling pretending that I can't hear. “I keep stalling us on the physical stuff,” Milan finally admits. 

“Why?” Robbe whispers. 

“Because I’m scared that I’ll hurt his feelings, if I let things go too far and then I can’t finish things... What if I can’t...you know...because he doesn’t” 

“Have a penis?” Robbe asks. 

“Yeah,” Milan admits guiltily. 

“Do you think about him that way?” Robbe asks suggestively, asking if Milan has imagined having sex with Carson. 

“All the time,” Milan sighs. 

“When you do, do you specifically imagine him having a penis?” Robbe presses on. 

“No, not specifically,” Milan says. “I just picture the way that we make each other feel, and  honestly I picture his muscles and his tattoos more than anything else .” 

“Well there you have it,” Robbe declares. “I’m not saying it won't feel different. But it will also feel different because you like him so much. But at the end of the day he is a man and you are clearly attracted to him. I think you will be fine, you just need to relax and let things go where they are going to go.” 

“Robbe, I think I might love him,” Milan looks scared shitless. 

“Even more reason to trust yourself and your feelings, and to trust him and what you have together. And even more reason to give it a try,” Robbe encourages. 

“Okay, I’ll give it a try,” Milan declares. 

“What? Not right now?!” I cringe, forgetting that I am still not supposed to hear any of this. 

“Shit, you heard all of that huh?” Milan blushes again. 

“Yeah,” I grimace. “Milan, I think you guys are perfect for each other by the way. Don’t stress so much.” 

“Okay,” Milan sighs, walking down the hall for real this time. “Thanks, guys!” 

“Well I wasn’t expecting that,” Robbe laughs. 

“Seriously? I saw that coming from a mile away,” I boast. 

“How? No, you didn’t,” Robbe rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t think I have ever seen Milan flirt harder with anyone else before. You remember, at Christmas?” I defend myself. 

“I guess, but still,” Robbe says. “I’m happy for them.” 

“Me too,” I sigh. “We are just a house full of gays now.” 

“We really are,” Robbe laughs. Robbe and I, Val and Engel, and now Carson and Milan. I am so thankful for the family that we have made here. I never thought I would find this...home. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
_Dear class,_

_ After a lot of soul searching and reading your  _ _ critiques, _ _ I have decided to cancel the public release of my film.  _ _ It has come to my attention that a story like this will do more harm than good. Somewhere along the way I seem to have produced a  _ _ film that only serves to  _ _ further _ _ the  _ _ false  _ _ narrative that those with mental illness are dangerous and only worthy of love when they are medicated and behave “normally.” I  _ _ apologize _ _ for any harm that I have caused and _ _ if this is your first introduction to bipolar disorder, please know that it does _ _ not  _ _ reflect reality. I have linked several  _ _ educational resources that I  _ _ wish _ _ that I had found before starting this process.  _ _ Please take the time to read through them.  _

_ Additionally, I am now aware of how this assignment could have harmed my students, especially those who struggle with their mental health. I created an unnecessary  _ _ amount _ _ of stress and disrupt _ _ ion to your schedules during an already stressful time and for that I am deeply sorry.  _ _ For this reason, I have decided to make the points for this project be extra credit that will be awarded to everyone. Please reach out if you feel like this  _ _ assignment _ __ _ interfered _ _ with any of your other assignments or exams _ _ , I will try my best to advocate for you with your other professors.  _

_ Thank you all for your honesty and your courage in calling me out on my mistakes. I hope you all have a happy and healthy summer.  _

_ -Professor James Olson _


End file.
